


Tacked

by Jeannie Peneaux (JeanniePeneaux)



Series: Tactful [4]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-04-28 14:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14451363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanniePeneaux/pseuds/Jeannie%20Peneaux
Summary: Tacked: To have fastened two pieces of cloth together with long stitches.Miss Lydia Bennet makes her debut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how long this will be. I have thus far written 5 longish chapters and a few scenes towards the end I want to get to. It won't (I hope!) be as long as Tact but it'll be long enough for a giggle or two.
> 
> I love Lydia. She is absolute corking heroine material and I hope to convince you to love her as much as I do by the time we finish this tale. 
> 
> Oh yes- Titles etc. I have taken very free liberty with a few names that may still be in use by real live people. For example, the Earl of Warwick has a brief moment in this chapter. I do not know if there is such a title nor do I know if there is such a person, my apologies if there is- I decided it worked a lot better than the ubiquitous 'Smith'.

The year that Miss Lydia Bennet of Longbourn had been long wishing for had _finally_ arrived. There would be no more impatient waiting and no more long wasted hours of dreaming and planning. She was to receive what she had long been promised and desired greatly, her very own season in London.

Mrs Darcy had been six months ago delivered of a son at Pemberley and great was the rejoicing throughout Derbyshire where the Darcy family was so well respected. Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself had been present for the birth, having for some time been desperately seeking a use for herself of some sort, since the death of her own daughter Anne, she descended upon the house with the expressed determination that she would not go away until she had ensured that Mrs Darcy had been safely delivered of her child. Seeing that what may have been viewed by some as officious interference was born out of the desire that Elizabeth not feel the grief of losing a child if Her Ladyship had anything to do with it, Lizzy herself gave her entrance.  
  
Lydia, who had been invited to spend the summer at Pemberley, so that she might become more familiar with Miss Darcy (who was to also make her curtsey that year) had been greatly bewildered by all the fuss that was made by everyone over the small matter of producing an heir to the estate and wondered for the first time, if the Bennet ladies had been so very unfortunate in their circumstances given their lacking one.

She was not by any means a great thinker and so did not permit it to bother her for long but when invited to admire young master Darcy the next day she dutifully peeped at him and congratulated her tired looking sister. Having learned a good deal in the last two years, she did not remark that the baby seemed to her, to be an ugly red-faced little thing. Elizabeth herself seemed so enraptured by him that Miss Bennet thought it would be unkind to point out his defects when his Mama was so happy.

Fortunately for Lydia, she was able with absolute sincerity, able to admire the set of rubies that Mr. Darcy presented his wife with to mark the occasion. She laughingly helped Lizzy to put them on, even whilst she was propped up in bed in her nightgown and for a moment it seemed just like old times, except that not one of the Bennet girls had ever possessed such jewels.

Lydia stood back to survey the effect, “I do think that there could not be a better colour on you Lizzy, Mr. Darcy I applaud you your choice.”

Having grown a little more used to his youngest sister in law and how seriously she took matters of style, Mr. Darcy bowed and looking at his wife said that his choice had indeed been excellent. He was rewarded with a very sweet, if weary smile from his wife which went unheeded by Lydia.

“You should not wear them with that nightgown though Lizzy, it is too white- you need a yellower cream to properly set them off.”

Elizabeth, clearly having become altogether too used to such luxuries as she enjoyed, had already lost interest in the subject and was once again staring at her son, softly stroking his bald head fondly. Lydia hoped that his baldness was soon amended, it did not suit her to be in possession of an ugly nephew. It was most unfair on the poor boy, given that both his parents were so well favoured. Even Mary had produced a delightfully pretty little girl, all blonde hair and large brown eyes by the time Lydia had clapped eyes on her on her the first anniversary of her birth.

Lydia excused herself when Lizzy started to compare young Master Darcy with other members of her family. “He has the look of you, I think Fitzwilliam, he is gazing at me so imperiously!”

Mr. Darcy, fortunately enough, did not appear to notice the insult and smiled indulgently at Elizabeth.

“I must go and bestir Georgiana, she will almost certainly wish to come and see you Lizzy, she was in such a fret last night when we heard you...well never mind. I shall fetch her.”

Lydia found that there was not a great deal to do at Pemberley, she was not at all like Elizabeth, who contentedly would walk for hours or read or play the pianoforte- Lydia had limited patience for any of that and having walked the gallery once or twice- admiring one or two of the dresses and shaking her head at the rest she grew decidedly bored.

She found therefore, that she was perfectly willing to borrow an old habit from Miss Darcy and go out riding with her when it was suggested. Lydia had learnt the rudiments of horse riding at Longborn, of course- they all had, but only Jane had ever ridden for pleasure. She improved a great deal over the weeks that she was in residence at Pemberley and was rewarded with the thought that if she was to ride in Town she would require a riding habit of her very own and set about thinking of the styles and shades that would suit her best, for although Miss Darcy clearly favoured severe black for riding, Lydia wanted to be a little different and spent much time thinking of whether or not she ought to consider an emerald velvet or a sapphire.

The season commenced for the Darcy’s, after much excitement and a tedious journey, with an invitation to a ball given by the Earl and Countess of Warwickshire, an elderly couple who having never had children, still came to London each year for the season and very much enjoyed themselves on the whole. Lord Warwick was hard of hearing by now, and his put upon wife was obliged to shout very loudly if she wanted his attention. This was a rarity, however, for although compatible in terms of each of them being very sociable, they had neither of them spoken more than a few civil words to each other every day for years now.

Lydia had chosen for herself a deceptively simple gown of white sprigged muslin, worn over a silk rose underskirt with a demi-train. She liked a slight train, her height suited them and it meant that one was obliged to loop it up for dances, meaning that onlookers could admire the pretty matching dancing slippers beneath.

Miss Darcy wore white silk with a strand of her late mother's pearls about her neck. She had looked to Lydia for her judgement, a summer in Miss Bennet’s company having convinced her of her superior taste, on the ensemble and having received a nod (one could not accuse Lydia of being stingy with her opinions) had gone from looking petrified to merely very nervous.

Mrs Darcy, it had to be admitted, looked like the very epitome of loveliness. She wore the most delightful cream silk gown, richly embroidered with gold flowers and completed the whole with her ruby necklace. The dark gems sat against her skin, turning it to alabaster and somehow her eyes seemed darker and more vivid in her face.

Lydia had done more than nod. “Lizzy! You look quite magnificent, not at all like my sister. I could not have chosen better for you myself.”

Mrs Darcy was in a sparkling mood that evening, she laughed lightly and her earrings danced fetchingly in the candlelight. “I could hardly have spent sixteen years in your close society, Lydia, without having learned one or two things about how I ought to dress, could I? Harding deserves the credit, I fear, she has quite outdone herself. Well Mr. Darcy, am I quite tempting enough to dance with tonight do you think or shall I be confined to the wall? Your cousin has promised me a dance if you will not and I daresay Mr. Bingley will take pity on me too.”

Mr. Darcy leant down and murmured something in his wife’s ear, causing her to blush and Lydia to frown.

“No! Oh dear, no! Lizzy on no account must you get too warm or embarrassed tonight, it quite spoils the effect if your face turns the same colour as your necklace.”

Miss Darcy let out a nervous laugh and Elizabeth, more used to Lydia, rolled her eyes.

The ball was all that Lydia could have wished for. If she discounted her sister’s ball, at which she had not been permitted to dance, it was her first real London society even and it lived up to every expectation.

The ballroom was quite enormous and lavishly decorated with gilt ceilings and elaborate chandeliers. Lydia thought that she would forevermore compare every ballroom to this one, so pleased as she was by it.   
  
She stood, as instructed, beside Miss Darcy, trying to contain her excitement. Miss Darcy was not so similarly afflicted.

“Oh, Miss Bennet- how can you look so brave? I am in a quake! What if no gentleman asks me to dance? What if one _does_ and I forget my steps or say the wrong thing or worse still say nothing at all. Oh _dear_.”

Lydia looked her over and took pity on her. She was a cheerful girl, and liked others around her to be as contended as she. If Miss Darcy was not likely to enjoy herself, she must be persuaded to- at least a little.

“You are Miss Darcy of Pemberley...I vow that once word gets around that you are out, you will be inundated- all you need do is pick whichever gentleman you like the best and make the others wildly jealous.”

Amused, Mrs Darcy interjected, “I do not think Georgiana will enjoy that quite so much as you would, Lydia. Georgiana, although a little too bluntly put- my sister is quite correct. There is nothing whatsoever lacking in you, all that you must do is decide if you like any gentleman who courts your favour. If none of them are worthy, send them to your brother who will assure them of their unworthiness and send them on their way. I am sure he will like to do that.”

Mr. Darcy, who had almost been looking bored, smiled a little at this, for all he was pretending not to have been listening. Assumed deafness was his favoured technique for dealing with his wife’s sister, it helped him gloss over her more shocking pronouncements and caused fewer quarrels with his wife.

“Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet!” called the announcing servant, before they were greeted by the Earl and his Lady.

The Countess presented a mere Mr. Warwick to the young ladies, who bowed with great finesse and requested a dance with Miss Darcy, if she would be so kind. Heaving a sigh of relief, Georgiana managed to accept without stuttering overly much and wrote down the first for him on her card.

Mr. Darcy did not look pleased and Lydia at first assumed some misguided desire that his sister never grow up but overhearing her sister and brother in laws whisperings she learnt that Mr. Warwick, although seemingly eligible being the heir to the current Earldom, did _not_ have a good reputation.

Lydia privately, watching him from across the room, thought that whatever people may say about him, it did not make him one jot less handsome.

She was, aesthetically speaking, correct. Lydia, after all had an excellent grasp of beauty and Mr. Warwick was unusually well favoured. Dark hair, brushed into careful disorder, a tall well-built frame and regular well-proportioned features were to his credit. The straight black brows drew attention to very light green eyes, which although very pretty to look at more often than not held an unpleasantly calculating gleam in them. If any fault were to be found in that face, it would be in the too thin lips that looked as though they would form cruel words all too easily.

He was forgotten, as swiftly as he had been assessed, if he had had the bad taste and manners to ask Miss Darcy to dance and not include Lydia Bennet then he was not at all worth thinking of. She looked about the room for anyone she knew and smiled winningly at her brother-in-law, who waved and made his way through the crush to meet her.

Charles Bingley, convivial as ever bowed deeply to his sisters-in-law and shook hands with Darcy.

“Bingley, I had not thought you had yet come to town yet, how do you do? Is Mrs Bingley here?”

“Ah yes, she is with Caroline at present speaking with Mr. Pond.”

“Nathaniel Pond?” asked Mr. Darcy, frowning again.

“No, his younger brother- Bertrand, I believe. He was some years below us at Cambridge.”

To Lydia’s delight, they were then rescued from such dullness by Mr. Brummell, who having heard them announced had slowly made his way over to them, but had been forced to greet many acquaintances en route.

“Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy and Miss Bennet. Good evening.”

They bowed and Mr. Bingley, suitably impressed by Mr. Brummel coughed behind his hand. Mrs Darcy took the hint and introduced him. Sadly for Mr. Bingley, Mr. Brummell was not at all pleased with the careless tying of his cravat and so bowed very cooly and almost immediately gave his attention to Miss Bennet.

“Miss Bennet, we meet again. Dare I hope that you might spare me a dance tonight? You were forbidden at my last request, I recall.”

Dimpling, Lydia opened her little dance card. “Mr. Brummell you may have any dance you choose- I have not had a single request so far and I have been here for all of ten minutes. I was beginning to feel as though I should have to hide behind the curtains, lest anyone see me partnerless.”

Mr. Brummell smiled, “that would have been a waste of a delightful gown to be so concealed, Miss Bennet. I shall write my name down for the first, if you do not object. I must have a word with Mrs Drummond-Burrell before the set is made up, and then I shall come and find you. Fret not, Miss Bennet, I said last time we met that you should enjoy yourself and I shall see that you do.”

Lydia sighed happily. Pretending blindness at her brother-in-law's severe expression. It was the best way, she had decided, to deal with Mr. Darcy, if she affected not to notice his disapproving countenance, it caused far fewer arguments with her sister.

Many people stared at Mr. Brummell leading Miss Bennet to the floor, he danced but rarely and for him to deign to do so with a debutante in her first season was a very great honour. Lydia, sensible of the kindness that had prompted him smiled winningly at him and after they had begun the first steps looked about her.

“Oh dear.” said she, “the elderly lady in the puce velvet.”

Mr. Brummell, delighted to find that Miss Bennet was every bit as interesting as she had been the last time he saw her, looked and a spasm of pain crossed his features.

“The Dowager Duchess of Beauleigh. I have hinted once or twice but sadly even my influence will only go so far. It is quite her favourite colour, she wore it as a bride...it used to be even worse with her hair when it was still copper.”

Lydia looked horrified. “No Mr. Brummell, surely you do jest. Copper hair? With _that_ shade? I am grateful to have been spared. Now, it is your turn.”

He, feeling quite ten years younger, glanced about him. “I have it- the fellow speaking to the Earl of Warwick. I do not know his name, nor shall I be troubling myself to find it out.”

The gentleman in question was of an unfortunate form, being dreadfully narrow in the shoulder and his valet having persuaded him to pad out his jackets with wool. Alas for the nameless fool, the padding on the one shoulder was uneven, lending him a decidedly twisted silhouette.

Their game having got off to a splendid start, the two of them enjoyed their dance tremendously, Mr. Brummell was heard later that evening to praise Miss Bennet for having both excellent taste and being a delightful dance partner and she very soon found herself as popular in London as she had ever been in Meryton.

The rest of the evening was a decided success. Mr. Brummell, as might have been his aim, having opened the ball with Miss Bennet had assured her popularity and she was thereafter besieged with young men requesting introductions and desirous of dancing with her. Lydia was a young lady of great energy when it came to dancing and did not sit out a single dance. She was returned very properly to her sister's side in between each partner, but in truth barely had time to exchange a word, so in demand as she was. She was taken down to supper by a Mr. Kentmire of Northumberland, who was handsome enough but far too quiet for her tastes, still he ensured that she could sit near Miss Darcy, who had sent her a beseeching look when they had entered the dining room and between them they kept the conversation flowing well enough.

What Lydia could not help but notice was that Miss Darcy did not at all favour Mr. Warwick for his attentions during the evening, she appeared decidedly uncomfortable after their dance and whilst she was too unsure of herself to obviously avoid him, to Lydia at least it was clear that she did not care for his well-practiced flirtation.   
  
Miss Darcy was, however, entirely fascinated with Mr. Kentmire’s descriptions of India. He was, Mrs Darcy had discovered from the Earl of Matlock during the quadrille, a Nabob, quite enormously wealthy from his travels and now looking to settle down in England. Lydia did not think him so very interesting, she had little patience for people who forever spoke of things she had not seen. He was a nondescript gentleman, of medium height with wavy, sandy coloured hair. His eyes were brown, his skin was tanned and Miss Bennet quickly determined that although pleasant enough to look at, there was nothing striking about him, neither in conversation nor in his face. She received a quelling look from her sister when she had murmured that although the cloth of his coat was of an excellent quality, it had clearly been bought with little thought to whether or not it suited him. Unsubdued by Mrs Darcy’s attempt at sternness she added that the waistcoat had clearly been chosen at random and would have suited almost anyone in the room better than him, but if Miss Darcy could bear to look at it throughout their dance, then she would not gainsay her.   
  
They returned, at a dreadfully late hour, to Darcy House and with a very brief exchange to wish each other good night, tumbled into their respective beds. Lydia Bennet slept the sleep of youth, being so utterly contented with her present lot in life that not a thing in the world could have successfully persuaded her that she was not the most blessed girl in all of England.


	2. Chapter 2

It became clear, as the weeks passed and they attended balls and parties nearly every night, that Mr. Brummell had been quite correct. Lydia _did_ enjoy the season. She was quite tireless in her enthusiasm for shopping, for choosing a gown and for dancing with admiring gentlemen. As had been expected, Miss Darcy had many suitors, her thirty thousand pounds and excellent family proved to be a very great lure to many men, second sons especially. Her most determined suitors were Lord Henry Sewell (the youngest son of the Duke of Oxford), Mr. Kentmire who remained quietly resolute and Mr. Warwick- who did not seem to notice that Miss Darcy was in a fair way to being in love with the badly dressed gentleman from India.   
  
Lydia too had her fair share of success. She had never fretted that she might be cast into the shade by Miss Darcy’s fortune and accomplishments for she had managed to be very popular in Meryton in spite of having to compete with the incomparably lovely Jane or the delightfully amusing Elizabeth. In short, Lydia expected to be liked and so she was, she gave little thought to how she accomplished this and sallied forth every evening confident that she would not lack partners.   
  
Miss Darcy, being of a timid disposition, envied Lydia this heedless confidence. The two young ladies were perfectly amicable with each other but were unlikely to become the closest of companions. They rode out together and shopped together and, at Miss Darcy’s request, were often seated near each other when dining out.   
  
As a result of being constantly with Miss Darcy, Lydia found herself often thrown into company with her suitors, this proved to be occasionally pleasant- Lord Henry, for example, who delighted in asking for her opinions in matters of style. More often, however, Miss Darcy's admirers proved to be very irritating. Ordinarily, the gentlemen approaching the young ladies felt obliged to ask Lydia for a dance once they had gained Miss Darcy’s acceptance for a set. Sometimes she was glad of it, for it meant that she danced nearly every dance of an evening, which she was always pleased to do and sometimes she wished that they would let her alone and permit her to keep the space free for some of her own admirers.   
  
Nonetheless, it irked her immensely that Mr. Warwick consistently abstained from such empty civilities. She did not _wish_ to dance with him, although she would have enjoyed dissuading him from wearing a particular yellow floral waistcoat again but it pricked at her pride that he did not ask. It was as though Miss Lydia Bennet was so far beneath his notice that she was invisible to him. He was civil enough to the Darcys but had scarcely spoken more than three direct sentences to Lydia throughout their whole acquaintance. Lydia did not aspire to be the embodiment of all virtue like dearest Jane, but if one thing riled her temper it was being ignored. She took to imitating him in his greetings as a means of amusement. If the heir to the Earldom of Warwick barely bowed to her, she responded by offering a miniscule curtsey in return. The private game kept the worst of her ire in check.   
  
She softly, while dancing with Mr. Brummell (he was a fast friend by now) one evening requested that he give Mr. Warwick a set down for having the dreadful taste to inflict such an ugly waistcoat on society and was disappointed when he could not oblige her.   
  
“I wish I could, Miss Bennet. You cannot imagine how often I have longed to- but he is such a volatile fellow. I am almost certain he would call me out, which is not a thing I would enjoy. Such dreadfully early hours!”   
  
Lydia discovered that Mr. Warwick had fought many duels in his career as a wastrel (for by all accounts he was forever outspending his allowance in disreputable establishments) and once or twice the Earl had been obliged to step in and deal with the deceased's family so that they did not kick up too great a fuss over a killing.   
  
She had been very amused to discover, from Mr. Brummell himself, that a wager had been laid concerning the two of them- supposing that they would make a match of it. He had not been at all offended when she had rolled her eyes and wondered aloud what they could have been thinking of.   
  
“I think you are very well Mr. Brummell and I have never once found a fault with you in terms of your apparel but I am quite decided that I shall be a dreadfully expensive wife. If you find a man who is handsome, charming enough and is able to support a woman of very good taste you must send him along to me, I do not even mind if he is untitled you know.”   
  
Mr. Brummell laughed, thinking that she was as like-minded a female as he had ever encountered, promised to do so and handed her off to another of her admirers (who in truth would have admired anyone that Mr. Brummell endorsed) for the waltz.   
  
Mr. Kentmire, prompted by Miss Darcy’s shy encouragement, invited the Darcy’s and Miss Bennet on an expedition to a maze at Hampton Court one sunny week halfway through the season and was accepted very readily by Mrs. Darcy, who had an inkling as to where her sister-in-law's preference lay. Mr. Darcy seemed almost resigned to the fact that his sister may marry soon and at his wife’s urging, attempted to make conversation with their host for the day. He found in Mr. Kentmire a sensible man, very shrewd in some respects but not at all driven by a passionate nature. He had decided that it was time he returned to England in order to look for a wife, and his own father having married after the space of one London season thought he could do little better than to start there. He had thought of purchasing an estate soon, having the capital available and wishing to settle but being unsure as to which country he preferred. Mr. Darcy, at some gentle prompting from Elizabeth, had told him that he could do no better than Derbyshire and that if he wished to explore the Northern Counties, he might do so from Pemberley in the summer if he wished. Lizzy had teased him at length on the subject of his bias and laughingly offered Hertfordshire as a very pleasant alternative if he did not care for dreadful winters.   
  
“For I have lived in both counties you know, Mr. Kentmire- my father’s estate is near a town called Meryton and I would even go so far as to defy my husband regarding the relative beauties therein.”   
  
Mr. Darcy, with surprising charm, Lydia thought, delighted his wife by smoothly remarking that both he and his friend Bingley were quite enamoured of the Hertfordshire beauties. Perhaps he was not so severe after all if he could turn so pretty a compliment readily enough.   
  
Hampton Court had a very fine hedge maze, the like of which Lydia had never before seen. She grasped the point of the exercise very swiftly and her competitive spirits raised, she challenged Miss Darcy and Mr. Kentmire that she would almost certainly beat them to the middle. Mrs. Darcy, not quite to Mr. Darcy’s surprise, joined in with the fun and said that the two of them should be waiting at the centre for five minutes at the very least before anyone else had solved the puzzle.   
  
Thus, Miss Bennet set off through the entrance with much haste and made several turns at random, quite forgetting which way she had turned. She passed a pleasant half hour, darting between the hedges and eventually made her way to the centre of the maze and to her astonishment (for her sister, next to Mary, was ordinarily very quick to solve a puzzle) having arrived first. She sat on a bench in the sunshine and waited for the others to arrive.   
  
She raised her brows when Mr. Warwick strolled through the topiary archway and hesitated when he saw her waiting on the little white seat and watching him carefully.   
  
He bowed infinitesimally and Miss Bennet minutely inclined her head to him, disdaining to rise.

  
“Are you here with Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet?”   
  
So he was aware of her name then, how gratifying- she would not have guessed it. He did not look at her as he spoke, his eyes on the arch.   
  
Impishly, Lydia could not resist needling him. “Oh I daresay she is quite lost by now with Mr. Kentmire.”   
  
He did not appear to be distraught by this information.   


It crossed Lydia’s mind to enquire as to the company he was with, but she did not like to pretend an interest she did not feel and so did not.   
  
They remained in silence for some minutes until Lydia grew impatient with it. Mr. Warwick clearly found the flat greenery of the hedges more interesting than the lowly Miss Bennet. He really was a very rude man, she may not have thirty thousand pounds and be very well connected but she deserved more civility than he was currently showing. The problem was evidently not with her, given that nearly every other member of the society she had encountered had been very civil to her, particularly when it was revealed that she was a favourite of Mr. Brummell.   
  
What Mr. Warwick needed was a well deserved set down.

Miss Darcy came around the last corner then, on the arm of her most favoured suitor. Lydia enjoyed that. Mr. Warwick bowed and Miss Darcy ceased her laughter and managed a confused dip in response. Mr. Kentmire retained the young ladies arm and made a half bow in Mr. Warwick’s vague direction.  
  
The two men eyed each other and Georgiana, very aware of the tension looked about her for a means to diffuse the situation. Lydia felt a little sorry for her.

  
“I suppose Mrs. Darcy and your brother have gotten quite lost, Miss Darcy.” she said, lamely.   
  
Georgiana gratefully agreed that the maze had indeed proved too much for her brother’s famed sense of direction.   
  
Mr. Kentmire, sensing an opportunity said, “I am glad he is ordinarily very good at finding his way for otherwise I shall not at all wish him to show me around Derbyshire when I visit you at Pemberley.”

  
This apparently succeeded in annoying Mr. Warwick for his black brows twitched together for a moment and Lydia watched Mr. Kentmire smirk slightly with absolute delight. She decided then and there that Mr. Kentmire must marry Miss Darcy, if only to annoy the ungallant man with the pale eyes.   
  
Mr. and Mrs. Darcy then came upon them.   
  
“Oh, Mr. Darcy look we have been beaten to flinders. Tell me, who had the triumph of getting here first?”   
  
Lydia rose from her seat and pompously curtseyed in a grand manner while her elder sister looked on with sparkling eyes.   
  
“Well done then, little sister. I have been telling Mr. Darcy that we ought to have cheated and bribed someone to tell us the key to the maze lest we be quite lost forever. Perhaps next time we will do so if my husband can bear the dishonour of cheating.”   
  
Mr. Warwick turned to Miss Bennet, “Did you do so, Miss Bennet?” he asked, in dismissive tones- evidently sure that she could not have won otherwise.   
  
Lydia giggled which seemed to irritate him further.   
  
“I should be obliged if you would furnish me with it then, I should like to return to the entrance and rejoin my party.”   
  
Lydia opened her mouth to disclaim that she had done any such thing and then seeing the clear contempt in his horrid green eyes she changed her mind.   
  
“Certainly, Mr. Warwick, she said demurely. “If you will take a left turn after each third right that you take you will likely find it as helpful as I did.”   
  
“Thank you.” He clipped, curtly and bowing to the rest of them left the center of the maze.   
  
Elizabeth looked at her sister. “When can you have had an opportunity to gain the key, Lydia?”   
  
Lydia’s eyes danced and she looked for a moment every inch Mrs. Darcy’s sister.   
  
“Oh I did not, Lizzy- but Mr. Warwick seemed so certain that I could not have done it without such assistance that I could hardly enlighten him, could I?”   
  
“Lydia Bennet!” cried her sister, undecided whether to praise or condemn the deceit and casting a sidelong glance at her husband who was smiling in amused appreciation, “well I daresay he may have deserved it.”   
  
“For sure he did, for he is not at all gallant!”   
  
Lydia did not know how long Mr. Warwick spent wandering that maze, following her false directions, but they were led out almost unerringly by Mr. Darcy who was possessed of an excellent memory and they did not see the dark haired man in the little wilderness in which the maze was situated.

  
Lydia saw him, two days later at a ball given in honour of the prince regent's birthday and was annoyed on Georgiana’s behalf that he had not taken the hint the other day and ceased his persistent attentions to her. He approached, almost as soon as they entered and, once again not noticing Miss Bennet’s existence, requested the supper dance from the heiress.   
  
Lydia had had quite enough and decided that she needed to speak plainly, poor Georgiana looked very uncomfortable. It was too bad of the man, she thought, to spoil what ought to be a pleasant time for her friend.   
  
She cornered Mr. Kentmire first.   
  
“La Mr. Kentmire, Miss Darcy has been so riveted by your exploits in India- I am sure she could listen to you speak on the subject at great length.”   
  
Mr. Kentmire, a little unsure what to do with such a line of conversation, murmured that he was glad that Miss Darcy had not found him boring.   
  
“Oh no, not a bit of it sir. What a pity it is that Mr. Warwick managed to ask her for the supper dance, it would have been such an opportunity for her to hear more.”   
  
Not quite catching on, Mr. Kentmire politely agreed that he was just as disappointed at the loss of opportunity.   
  
“I know, Mr. Kentmire and I do pity you, I cannot think what is to be done…” she looked at him with wide eyes.   
  
“Errr...what would you suggest be done, Miss Bennet?” he asked.   
  
“I vow sir, I am so pleased that you _asked me_ .”   
  
Mr. Kentmire looked at her blankly and Lydia rolled her eyes.   
  
“Poor Mr. Warwick will have to entertain the two of us ladies from Darcy House, as no one has yet _asked_ me for the supper dance and _Miss Darcy and I are quite determined not to be separated this evening_ .”   
  
Lydia was quite aghast that such a slow top should have been able to make such a vast fortune in India, given how oblivious he was to her blatant hints. The silly man was so occupied in looking longingly at Miss Darcy, (who had taken her excellent advice regarding the china blue damask silk) and feeling so self pitying that he could not see that the solution was before him.   
  
Lydia tapped her foot impatiently and concealed a yawn.   
  
“Oh!” said Mr. Kentmire, at long last, “I should be most grateful, Miss Bennet, if you would grant me the pleasure of your company during the supper dance.”   
  
“Why thank you, Mr. Kentmire, I should be quite delighted.” said Miss Bennet, not troubling herself to conceal her irritation.   
  
He looked abashed but smiled at her, “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet- I have been woefully distracted. I do hope you will forgive me.”   
  
Well, at least he owned it. She looked over to see that Georgiana was watching the pair of them very carefully. She was far too well bred to display any vulgar jealousy, but Lydia supposed she must be feeling some sort of unhappiness at seeing her favourite in deep conversation with Miss Bennet. Silly goose. It was one of the reasons Lydia did not favour female companionship, besides her sisters, at any rate- girls were so annoyingly grasping when it came to ownership of a young man. Lydia herself had never felt so wanting in male attention that she could not bear to see any of her suitors talking to another pretty female and could not quite understand why it was that others were not as she was.   
  
After enduring a dance with Mr. Kentmire, who was not a naturally good partner, Lydia was more than ready to be seated for supper.   
  
She rapidly led Mr. Kentmire to one of the oval tables that had been set out in the dining room and declared that they could not do better than to settle themselves near an end so that she could sit closer to Miss Darcy. Mr. Kentmire, catching on to the spirit of the thing, permitted her to have her way and went about fetching her a plate of food.   
  
She waved to Georgiana when she entered the ballroom on Mr. Warwick's arm and gratefully the timid girl walked over.   
  
“Good evening, Mr. Warwick,” said Lydia, sounding bored, “you see Georgiana, I have saved you a pair of seats just as I have promised.”   
  
She was very pleased with the success of her machinations, judging by the look on Mr. Warwick's face when Mr. Kentmire returned to the table to take his seat, she had been a little too obvious for concealment but upon reflection did not much care. Once having finished her supper of duck and peas, she made sure to engage an acquaintance who had paused to bid her good evening in a very lively conversation that meant she had to withdraw her chair a little and turn from the table- thus ensuring that Mr. Kentmire and Georgiana were able to carry on a conversation very easily without needing to bend to talk around her. She was pleased to see that Mr. Warwick was all but ignored, not that he gave her the satisfaction of showing his annoyance, indeed he was leaning back in his chair, largely unconcerned but taking advantage of Miss Darcy’s good manners whenever she turned to try to include him in the conversation.   
  
“Oh I say, Lady Beatrice! I have not seen you in an age. Did you enjoy the card party at Mrs. Patterson’s last evening? I had heard that you were there you see and was sorry to have missed it. We had been to Hampton Court in the daytime and were entirely done in. Have you met Mr. Warwick? I am quite certain that he has been looking across the room at you in admiration of your headdress- it is vastly becoming.”

  
Lady Beatrice, a talkative blonde with a sad tendency toward freckles, looked at the surprised Mr. Warwick and blushed. Clearly she was flattered to have attracted the notice of so handsome a man as he. Even as rude as he was, Mr. Warwick was unable to do aught but nod in agreement with Miss Bennet's assertion that he must have been looking in Lady Beatrice’s direction.   
  
“It is a very fetching shade, is it not, Mr. Warwick?” prompted Lydia.   
  
He favoured her with a distinctly chilly glance and muttered, “indeed” in Lady Beatrice’s general direction. The blonde required little encouragement- if the heir to one of the richest Earldoms in the land had noticed her she would work very hard to keep that notice.     
  
Lydia gleefully watched as her ladyship engaged the reluctant gentleman in a one-sided debate regarding the merits of having extra height provided by ostrich plumes. She was not at all put off when he disclaimed knowledge of such things and instead provided him with ample opportunity to comment intelligently on his preferred height of hat himself.   
  
He had no other option but to apply to Miss Bennet for her hand in the next dance to get away from her and Lydia very much enjoyed declining.   
  
“How honoured I am that you should ask me, Mr. Warwick- alas my card is now entirely filled this evening since Mr. Kentmire so kindly asked me for the supper dance. How unfortunate! Doubtless there will be some other young lady quite delighted to dance with you, if only you ask in time. Oh! I must go to have a word with my sister, Mr. Kentmire, would you be so kind as to excuse me I have just this instant remembered that Mrs. Bingley asked me to find her during supper when I saw her earlier today.”   
  
With that, she glided off with Mr. Warwick occupied with Lady Beatrice and Mr. Kentmire with Miss Darcy. 

Later on, at the close of the ball while she was waiting in the hall for the Darcy carriage to draw up in its turn and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were fussing over Georgiana, Lydia found her elbow taken in a firm grip and was steered to a little space a little way from them.

Mr. Warwick did not appear to be in a very pleasant temper, she looked at him inquiringly.

“I can only attribute your uncalled for interference between Miss Darcy and myself at supper to unchecked jealousy.”  
  
Lydia depressed such conceit by laughing at him. “Jealousy? Of dearest Georgiana? You wrong me, Mr. Warwick. How highly you do regard yourself.”   
  
He appeared to find this very surprising and smiled unpleasantly.   
  
“Mr. Warwick, although I think that being soundly rejected would do you a great deal of good, I shall warn you that you had much better withdraw your suit- she does not at all favour you, you know.”   
  
He looked irritated by this assertion.   
  
“I do not even believe you admire her overmuch, not like Mr. Kentmire does anyway.”   
  
He raised his eyebrows. “What has that to do with anything? You cannot know, being from relative obscurity as you are, that those of rank do not marry for such romantic nonsense as is being spouted so often nowadays.”   
  
Lydia wrenched her elbow away from his grip. “I suppose you think the best thing about her is her fortune.” she hissed at him, goaded.   
  
“When joined with her lineage, yes.” He did not look in the least bit apologetic. “I have no desire to discuss this with you, Miss Bennet.”   
  
“You sir, are a fool- there are many excellent qualities in my friend and if you looked as though you might value her for those qualities I should not interfere but it is very clear that you are only interested in money and connections which is simply horrid.”   
  
He was silent but his contemptuous look spoke volumes.   
  
“I do not in the least bit care if you have run out of money, Miss Darcy deserves far better than a man who only sees what she may add to his pocket book, now if you will excuse me my sister will be looking for me.”   
  
And with that, she turned on her heel and left him standing alone.   
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tension warning, to those of you who wish to avoid such things. My apologies for the slightly later chapter, I have had an emotionally draining weekend. Thank you to those of you who have been reading and also to kudos leavers and commenters. 
> 
> I'm going to put out a blanket invitation to tell me of any glaring typos I have made- I shan't be offended, merely grateful for the opportunity to improve. That's not to say I expect people to spend their time helping me fix my own mistakes but feel free to tell me to correct anything that you find jarring. Enjoy the read!

Two days following the ball, Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet, followed at a discreet distance by the trusted groom, John Mibbs, took a morning ride through the park. It was before the fashionable hour, but neither lady was of a mind to care that there was no one about to see the pretty picture that they presented. For all that they had enjoyed themselves thus far in the season, it was a pleasant thing to be sometimes away from the crowds of people in London. 

Lydia looked very well in her blue riding habit, it was the primary reason she had decided that she should expand her riding abilities last summer at Pemberley, the cut of the habit did her figure justice and she particularly liked the flowing lines of the skirts. She was not a particularly accomplished horsewoman, but she had sufficient will to direct a dumb beast hither and thither and once permitted by her brother-in-law to progress to a canter, found it less dull than she had expected. Georgiana was in low spirits that morning and addressed fewer remarks than usual to Lydia. Miss Bennet, never at her best when rising early did not attempt to engage in lively conversation. Still, they were glad enough of each other’s company, for all that they were not of personalities that complemented. A certain fondness had grown between them the more time they spent living in the same household.

The three riders had just brushed along the far edge of the park, near to the road, when they found themselves in company with other riders. It was not until they heard the groom exclaim in alarm that the young ladies turned their heads to look at them. The riders wore dark scarves about their faces and had their brimmed hats pulled down low so that only their eyes could be made out.

They had their sights fixed on Georgiana. One rider pulled out a pistol and levelled it at the groom who checked his horse abruptly, another man rode very near their suddenly very alarmed quarry. Georgiana had frozen in stiff, wide-eyed terror and could only whimper in fright as the man tried to pull her from her horse, but her legs were locked into her saddle and the man could not unseat her.

Lydia, shocked to her very core, did not trouble to think, she rode close to her friend and raised her whip to strike at the man and brought it down as hard as she could on his hand. He let out a grunt and instinctively recoiled. Emboldened by her success, Lydia let out a wordless yell and brought it down again about his head. Abandoning the attempt to lay hold of Georgiana, he turned on Lydia Bennet and cuffed her hard about the face. 

It smarted, there was no denying it. She had never been struck so in her entire life and she was white with outrage and fright. Lydia Bennet was no coward, she would not freeze in useless terror, if these men meant them harm, she would give them as much trouble as she could and count each lash she dealt them as a victory. She raised her crop again and struck out. The ruffian who had been covering the worried groom with his pistol called out an encouragement to his friend to get on with the job, and to cease with the games. Lydia, issuing what could only be termed a battle cry, struck out wildly and called out to Miss Darcy to flee.

“Georgiana, _go_! Ride away!”

She could not understand that the girl was too afraid to even think, she just saw that she did not listen. Frustrated beyond measure, Lydia knew she needed Mibbs’ help. Instinctively, she directed her horse nearer the man with the pistol and brought her whip down as hard as she could on the flank of his horse, it kicked out and being caught by surprise, its rider was unseated.

Pulling her horse about, pleased to see Mibbs rush to Miss Darcy’s aid, who was once again being pulled at, she saw the now horseless man reach for his pistol and level it at her.

“Halt ye!” he called in a rough voice, expecting to be obeyed. “Everyone stops or I shoot the wench in the blue dress.”

She saw, as though time had slowed down, the fellow take his eyes off her to check that the groom had obeyed and at that moment, brought her crop down once again on the flank of her own horse and dropping her reins rode hard toward him.

He looked back to see that the wench in the blue dress was bearing down on him in a fury, her eyes narrowed with intent and clearly intending to mow him down. Seeing that she was not bluffing in the slightest, he turned and fled away, squeezing himself through a gap in the iron railings and soon disappearing onto the road. His horse skittered away from the group, evidently very unsettled by the goings-on.

Turning once more and ready to perform the same office again for the second ruffian, whom Mibbs had successfully punched hard enough to unseat, Lydia saw a third man on horseback and her heart sank. One she had seen off, the second may be dealt with between herself and the groom but a third man? 

She scowled and dismissed him from her mind, intending only to aid Georgiana who had _at_ _last_ found her voice and was now screaming loudly. 

The third masked horseman did not approach, however, merely watched as the gently bred young lady rode back toward her friend. 

She spared the observer one contemptuous glance when he let out two piercing whistles and, still watching her until the last moment, turned his horse about to leave the park, not even looking back to see the rogue who had one hand on Georgiana and one hand fighting off the groom abruptly cease his attempted abduction and heed the signal to abandon all.

They were gone, as soon as they came and quite pale with shock, the three of them looked about them warily, almost unbelieving that they should have gone so soon. 

Lydia nodded to the groom and said slowly, “I think they are gone. We had best go home immediately. On to the road Mibbs, and back in sight of the houses. Georgiana, are you hurt? Do cease crying, there is not the time for it.”

In halting sobs, Georgiana replied that she had been struck across the face and that it stung. Lydia, feeling her own face throbbing did not offer sympathy, but nodded briskly. 

“Yes, the wretch hit me too- bring your veil over your hat, Georgiana and I will do the same, it will cause less talk than if someone sees us with great red marks on our faces. No don’t start crying again, there will be time for that once we are safely home. Mibbs?”

“Very good Miss Bennet, I will follow on, closer-like, out through this entrance, through the street and down across the Elms. Quickest way but best keep the horses to a walk.”

“Alright, come on Miss Darcy, stay close to me.”

Georgiana, still trying bravely to cease crying and having managed to let down her veil, shook her head and said that her hands would not obey her, she was too frightened. 

Lydia scowled, desperate to get to safety. “I suggest that you find some pride, Georgiana, for if you do not come with us we shall leave you here, all alone in the park. We must go-  _ now _ !”

Her lack of sympathy and brusque orders did the trick, fear prompted Georgiana to try again and eventually the horse moved. 

They made their way, seemingly taking forever, out of the park and along the route suggested by Mibbs.

When they got to Darcy House, Mibbs handed the reins of the horses to the waiting stable boys and for the first time in his life, entered with the young ladies through the front door of the house. The butler raised his brows at him but nodded quickly when he saw the state of Miss Darcy and the white, pinched face of Miss Bennet.

“I need to speak to the master immediately, Mr. Danks- he needs to be informed of the goings on of this morning, without any delay. I don’t suggest you let Mrs. Darcy leave the house until the master has given his say so either, not but what that’s for him to decide.”

Mr. Danks, seeing that there was some great commotion underway escorted the groom across the polished floor to the door of the master's study and knocked firmly.

Lydia, at last seeing that they were indeed safe indoors, felt her stomach churning miserably and the hot feeling prickling her neck that signified that she was going to immediately be unwell. The maid pointed to a little hidden-room, hidden in the panelling, behind the staircase when she saw Lydia retch and watched as Miss Bennet dashed into it, not even having time to close the door before she cast up her accounts.

Trembling, Lydia emerged from the little room just in time to see Mr. Darcy come through the door of his study and catch his sister as she fainted. 

“Fetch Miss Darcy’s maid, if you please Danks. You there,” this to the maid, “find Mrs. Priddy and tell her I want her immediately. Mibbs, I desire you to remain in the hallway until Mr. Danks returns to watch the door- no one is to leave the house.”

Here Danks volunteered the information that Mrs. Darcy had left Darcy house not five minutes ago to call on Mrs. St. John.

Mr. Darcy then, for the first time in Lydia’s acquaintance with him, raised his voice to call for more servants as he hoisted his sister into his arms and carried her up the stairs, calling out orders all the way. 

Lydia was left in the hallway with only Mibbs to bear her company. Her heart had ceased to beat so loudly in her chest now but her fingers still trembled uncontrollably. She desperately wanted Lizzy and impatiently drew off her gloves and removed the pin from her hat. 

Mibbs watching her carefully, lest she too should faint, offered her a delicate little chair that was kept by the door. 

She was carefully rearranging the folds of the veil on her hat and shook her head impatiently. 

“No, don’t worry, I shan’t faint. Where is the bell in here?”

It was quite unnecessary for her to pull it for assistance, however, for alerted by the housekeeper, a maid and two footmen appeared through three different doors in quick succession, Lydia handed over her hat and gloves to the maid. 

“Thank you. I fear a scullery maid will need to be sent for to clean that little room behind the stairs. Have you two been sent for to guard the front door?”

One of the burly footmen bowed and said that yes, he had been. 

“Well then. Mibbs- do you know where Mrs. St. John lives? I don’t, you see, I haven’t the least head for remembering things like that.”

“Yes Miss Bennet, I have escorted Mrs. Darcy there a number of times.” 

“Good, if I write you a note to deliver to her, will you bring her home immediately? I do not know that she should be out, I mean...we cannot know if there is any danger…”

Mr. Darcy came swiftly down the stairs then, his expression very grave. 

“Thomas, I have asked that the doctor be sent for, he should be here within half an hour. Mibbs, you must come with me to retrieve my wife, it will cause talk but there is little avoiding that.”

Lydia piped up, “I had thought that a note may work, or you could tell her that her sister has been taken ill- she will worry of course but…”

Mr. Darcy gave a nod. “Yes, it might answer. I shall want your account of the matter shortly, Lydia. When I have brought Elizabeth home safely, that is.”

“Oh yes, very well, go!”

He did go, looking very worried but determined. Lydia went to a little salon toward the back of the house, overlooking the garden where the light was good and collapsed in a heap. If only Mr. Darcy brought her sister home, all might be well. There was much that she could not understand about the happenings of the morning, but if anyone could make her feel easy again, and make the horrid feeling of fear leave her again, it would be Lizzy. Elizabeth would hold her, make her laugh and then promise that all would be well, just as she did with her infant son when he cried. After she had sat there for a while, Lydia supposed she ought to find out how Georgiana was faring and rose from her reverie, deciding that she would not cry now, she would cry later. 

Miss Darcy had, according to the doctor, woken from her faint and gone into hysterics. Dr. Mackintosh was of the opinion that the poor, delicate young woman (said in a very approving fashion) had suffered a very great deal and needed much rest. He eyed Lydia up, almost with disapproval, when, upon asking after her own health, was told very practically that she was very well, thank you, and there was no need at all to be concerned for her. 

His straight brows furrowed, he told Miss Bennet that he had administered laudanum to Miss Darcy to soothe her and to assist her recovery from the dreadful ordeal. He recommended cold compresses to her, for the now purpling bruise on her cheek. Lydia, having forgotten it, suddenly felt the hot stinging and raised her hand to her cheek in surprise. She heard noise in the hallway below and rushed to the stairs to see if her sister had returned.

She had.

Looking up to see her youngest sister dashing down the stairs in a most unseemly fashion Elizabeth pulled away from her husband's grip and met her part way, her arms opened to receive her. It was only then that Lydia cried when Lizzy was petting her hair, not even having removed her bonnet and gloves and murmuring lovely words in her ear. Awkwardly fishing in her reticule, a darling concoction of silk and white lace, Lydia noted absently, for a handkerchief, Lizzy wiped away her sister's tears and led her into the study, leaving Mr. Darcy to bid farewell to the doctor.

When he entered, it was with his secretary, Mr. Hart, and Mibbs. Elizabeth had managed to remove her hat and gloves by now, had sent for hers and Miss Lydia’s shawls (for Lydia had not been able to cease trembling) and was just pouring out hot tea into dainty china cups. 

Mrs. Darcy handed round the tea to all present and they waited for Mr. Darcy to take charge.

“I have asked Mr. Hart to join us because I want a clear account of what happened this morning to be written down for later perusal. Miss Darcy is currently resting and I will ask her for her account later on when she is well enough.  For now if you, Miss Bennet and you, Mibbs could say, as clearly as possible what has occurred; Mr. Hart will write it down.”

Mibbs and Lydia looked at each other, neither quite sure how to begin. “It is difficult to remember, Mr. Darcy, it all happened so fast. One minute we were skirting about the park, near Holland Street, and the next we were set upon by men,” said Mibbs, apologetically. 

“How many men?”  Mrs. Darcy asked, “In what manner did they approach you? What were they wearing?”

Mr. Mibbs thought and spoke slowly, “Two men, ma’am- they came from the side of us and went straight for Miss Darcy, well, one of them did, the other pointed his gun at me. I could not say what they were wearing- dark garb I suppose.”

Lydia sipped her tea and shook her head, “it did happen quickly.  _ Three _ men, although one was farther away and did not come close, I don’t know why...I only really noticed him when he whistled to call the men off. He was watching us. They were wearing dark coats, with brimmed hats that were pulled low and scarves wrapped about their faces, I could not tell you if they were dark or fair or...anything. There is nothing of note by which I could describe them.”

“What of their horses? Were any of  _ them _ noteworthy?” this question posed from Mr. Darcy and met with an impatient shake of Lydia’s head. 

“Oh, I don’t notice horses, Mr. Darcy, your sister might have.”

The groom, looking apologetic again shook his head. “I had my eyes on the one with the gun, sir. I think the horses were mostly chestnuts, not blood horses but not heavy set neither. Dark, again. Seems to have been deliberate that. I’d have remarked a bay.”

“Well, what next then? One man pointing a pistol, one man near Miss Darcy and another man at a distance…” prompted Lizzy, taking hold of Lydia’s hand.

“Well, that man, the second one, he tried to pull Georgiana from her horse, I think...I think that may have been their aim. They did not at all seem concerned with me, just Mibbs and Georgiana.”

Mr. Darcy’s mouth set in a grim line and looked to the groom. “Mibbs, do you agree with this assessment? That their purpose was to abduct Miss Darcy.”

“Aye sir,” said Mibbs, after a moments thought. “They went straight for her, reckon they knew which she was.”

Mr. Hart continued to write steadily as Mr. Darcy composed himself. 

“Well, what foiled them then? If you had the pistol levelled at you, how is it that you are all safely returned home? An outcome for which I am deeply grateful.”

“And I!” interjected his wife, still holding fast to Lydia’s hand.

“Reckon it was Miss Bennet, sir, that brought us about. Started lashing out with her whip and got a few good blows in, from the sounds of the fellows cursing. I only really noticed that when the rogue with the gun trained on me turned to look- think he told him to hurry or something.”

Lydia nodded to confirm this, “I am afraid that that is when the other one struck me across the face. I did not know what to do, I thought that if I  _ stopped _ hitting him then all would be lost so I carried on. He raised his hands to defend himself, I think and oh yes! I called out to Georgiana to ride away, but I think she was in a panic and could not, and then I turned my horse nearer to the man with the pistol and brought my crop down on the flank of his horse, it reared up and unseated him.”

Mibbs jumped in to continue the tale, “he turned the gun on Miss Bennet then and shouted that if everyone did not stop, he would shoot her. Miss Bennet, sir, I think surprised him for she rode  _ at _ him hard and he dropped his gun and turned and ran. Miss Darcy began screaming then, sir.”

It was at this point that the steady scratching of Mr. Hart’s pen ceased and Mr. Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as though greatly troubled. Lizzy released Lydia’s hand and covered her mouth with her hands in profound shock.

Silence, for the space of a minute, went unbroken in the study. Lydia was lost in thought, trying to remember what had happened next and Mibbs was looking worriedly at his master.

“Go on,” said Mr. Darcy, in a voice quite unlike his own. “Miss Bennet rode towards a man in possession of a loaded pistol and having frightened him off...what next?”

“Oh! That was when the third man gave a whistle and they all rode off, I suppose it was because Georgiana started screaming then and perhaps they thought it might attract a great deal of attention.”

Mr. Hart began writing again with great concentration.

“I didn’t see which way they went, sir- I’m sorry. Miss Darcy was clearly greatly distressed and I was mostly worrying about the fastest and safest route home. Miss Bennet was the one who persuaded Miss Darcy to get moving with us, sir. She must have been fearful frightened to be grabbed like that.”

Having the full story, Mr. Darcy sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, looking over the tips them at his young sister in law. 

“Lydia, it seems that I owe you a great debt of gratitude- your extraordinary behaviour today has saved my sister from disaster. I thank you.”

Elizabeth, uncaring of the audience, flung her arms about her and squeezed her tight. “ _ Indeed _ Lydia, although I think I may never recover from the shock of hearing that you risked yourself so...you are so very brave, dearest. I am prodigiously proud.”

Lydia did not feel very brave, but feeling Lizzy’s arms about her, and hearing such a declaration went a long way to quieting the dreadful feeling in her stomach and for the first time her shoulders relaxed. 

Mr. Darcy spoke again. “I do not know what manner of men sought to do harm to my family, whether it was a deliberate target or if it was merely footpads having chanced upon what seemed an easy quarry- I will do my utmost to find out. I will give orders that will mean an increase in the protection for the household. Mrs. Darcy, for the present you, your sister and mine must not stir out of doors without an appropriately armed escort, I hope such measures will not be necessary but for now I require it. My son must not be taken out of doors with his nursemaid without suitable protection either, Hart, Mibbs, I should like you to relate my orders to the relevant parties if you please. You may go now, we shall get no more work done today, I fear, Hart.”

Elizabeth, upon hearing her husband mention protection for her baby had sat up straighter in her chair and had gone very pale. Lydia, seeking to comfort her, stroked her back lightly.

“Lydia, I think perhaps you might like to rest in your rooms for a while, you have had a very trying morning. Your maid will wish to find you a compress for the bruise on your cheek.”

It was a clear dismissal and Lydia had not the will left in her to argue with him. She quietly padded to the door and turned to look back just as she opened it. She had thought that her brother might be wishing to comfort Elizabeth and was glad of it for her sister's sake. To her surprise, when she looked back over her shoulder she saw that it was Elizabeth who had risen from her chair and had wound her arms about him. Mr. Darcy, evidently in much need of her love, buried his head in her shoulder with a great shuddering sigh.

Quietly, feeling as though she had seen something greatly private, Lydia slipped through the doorway and very softly closed the heavy door behind her.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Kentmire, hearing within a few days of Miss Darcy’s near abduction, came to call upon her and was clearly greatly agitated in seeing her white face and tear-stained cheeks. She had refused all other callers but when Lydia skipped up the stairs to tell her that she had been looking out at the street and had seen him alight from his carriage she brightened and came down.

He held out his hand, hardly noticing that it was not at all correct for him to do so. Mrs. Darcy, a twinkle in her eye, duly took advantage of her husband's absence from the room and ignored it. Lydia raised her brows and retreated to the window again, looking out at the passers-by below.   
  
Miss Darcy did not seem to mind Mr. Kentmire’s forwardness at all and permitted him to lead her to a little pair of chairs by the fireplace. There was a pronounced air of fragility about her that day, even more so than usual and her suitor could not help but respond to it.   
  
“I was concerned, Miss Darcy, to hear of the goings on in the park from Sir Anthony Alderhey. I am very glad to see you are not injured but I do not at all like that you have been made to feel unsafe. I assume your brother has engaged adequate protection for you in the future?”

Mrs. Darcy, taking exception to this, took her share in the conversation. “My husband, Mr. Kentmire, is the most conscientious of brothers to Miss Darcy. He, being such a  _ decently _ minded man, could not have foreseen the incident but having been made aware of the danger has taken every precaution for the safety of his family.”

Mr. Kentmire bowing in his seat begged Mrs. Darcy’s pardon. “Forgive me, madam, I misspoke. I did not at all intend to criticise your husband’s arrangements. I was merely thinking that I have brought with me, from India I mean, several native men who were trained to protect the ladies of the Sultan’s court. Might I send one or two of them to you? To assist in the protection of the household? I should rest much easier if I knew they were here.”

Miss Darcy smiled on him and softly thanked him for such thoughtfulness. Mrs. Darcy tilted her head, consideringly.    
  
“I do not know that my husband would think it proper to accept such assistance from anyone outside of the family, sir- however dear a friend you have become to us. Perhaps you might ask him?”

Mr. Kentmire blushed slightly and looked at Miss Darcy, she was looking at him with soft eyes. “Ah yes, of course. Forgive me, I had not intended to overstep the bounds of what is acceptable, I am still acclimatizing to English customs again, it seems I was in India too long.”

Finding her courage, Miss Darcy exclaimed that she was not in the least bit offended by such a friendly offer of assistance and thanked him as effusively as she was able. She managed so well that Mr. Kentmire felt encouraged enough to request a private interview with her, subject to Mrs. Darcy’s permission.    
  
Feeling very matronly, Mrs. Darcy rose from her seat and shook out her silk skirts. “Lydia dearest, perchance you will find the view of the road more satisfactory from the yellow salon? Shall we go and see?” She smiled at Georgiana who seemed more cheerful and hopeful than she had for many days, for all her delicate hands were clenched tightly together in her lap.    
  
The two sisters left the room together and made their way to Mr. Darcy’s study. 

“I do not mean to stay for long, Fitzwilliam. Mr. Kentmire has requested a private interview with Georgiana- doubtless, he will wish to speak to you afterward. He seems gravely concerned for her wellbeing, my love.”

Mr. Darcy nodded in response. “Very well, Elizabeth. I will see him.”   
  


His wife dimpled at him, “you had best begin rehearsing a very grand speech about her ancestry and accomplishments, my love. He will soon grovel appropriately if you do.”    
  
Mr. Darcy sent her a stern glare that sent her off into a trill of delighted laughter. Lydia sometimes did not understand her sister one little bit, she seemed to love her husband best of all when he was excessively grumpy. To his credit, he did not seem to mind being teased by her sister, so perhaps it was that they both had an understanding that was beyond her.     
  
They went to the yellow salon and Lydia looked out to the street again, studying the passers-by. Elizabeth rearranged a vase of flowers that had been sent by Sir Daniel James, one of Lydia’s circle of suitors. They were pretty enough in their way, Lydia had thought, and it was pleasant to receive them, especially with the polite note of concern that accompanied the blooms. She could have wished that he had not selected such a cacophony of colour but owned that they did not look so bad in Elizabeth’s pale yellow salon.   
  
It was not long before the door opened and Georgiana came eagerly in.    
  
Elizabeth held out her hands to her sister in law, “well?”    
  
“Oh, Elizabeth! He has asked me to marry him!” exclaimed Georgiana, expecting to find her brother’s wife quite brimming over with surprise.   
  
“Given that he asked for a private interview with you I should hope that he did!” laughed Mrs. Darcy. “Dare we hope that you have accepted him?”   
  
“Oh, did I not tell you? I am sorry, yes, of course I did. He has gone to see my brother now. He said that he would not have troubled me so soon after I had had such a great upset but that he could not tolerate being unable to assist by sending his servants. Is that not so very  _ kind _ of him?”

“Very kind, my dear. Do you know I cannot at all fathom why our Mama used to be in such a fret that we get husbands, Lydia. It seems to happen with very little interference from me at all- perhaps I have the knack of it. I had better write a letter to Lady Catherine, boasting of my great success as a matchmaker. She will enjoy scolding me for my vulgarity of mind, I do not doubt.”   
  
So it was that Miss Georgiana of Pemberley became engaged. Her betrothed, being a very wealthy man and inclined to indulge her, promised her that should she desire it, he would build or buy her a house in whatever county she wished him to. Unsurprisingly, she very quickly answered that she would not wish to be very far from her dear brother and if he could arrange a home for her within half a days travel from Pemberley she should be very well pleased to live wherever he liked.    
  
Some two days after the engagement became a settled thing, Mr. Warwick came to call. He rode up the street and Lydia, stationed by the window once more, called out to Georgiana that she had a visitor. Thinking it to be Mr. Kentmire, Georgiana came to the window and then stiffened.   
  
Lydia looked at her.   
  
“I think it is only Mr. Warwick, Georgiana. He has probably heard of your engagement to Mr. Kentmire and is come to congratulate you...or to persuade you that you ought to marry him instead. I should laugh at him if he did.”   
  
“It is not that. I do not fear that, despite the awkwardness, it is just that...Lydia...do you not recognise that horse?”    
  
“Now why should I recognise a horse? Do speak plainly, you are making no sense.”   
  
“I do think that I  _ have _ seen it before,  _ that _ morning in the park. The other horses were mere job horses but that one...at least I  _ think _ it was that one...it is clearly of superior stock- do not you agree?”

Lydia, looking out interestedly now, frowned. “I could not say for certain either way, it is a black horse- that is all.”

“But what if Mr. Warwick has bought it from someone recently, perhaps he might be able to help my brother find the men who set on us.”   
  
Her mind in a whirl, Lydia nodded. “Oh yes, I suppose he  _ might _ be able to help. I have been wondering you know, if your brother is in the right of it, perhaps they were footpads after all. They may never be caught.”

Georgiana shuddered, “I wish they might be, it is not at all pleasant feeling so vulnerable.”

  
Lydia, thinking of the fear she had felt once the danger had passed, agreed. “At least Mr. Kentmire has sent additional men for your protection. Just think! You will be as well defended as a King's wife.”   
  
“Mr. Kentmire said they are called  _ Sultans _ in India,” Georgiana informed her.   
  
This interested Lydia not at all and she waved it off. Mr. Warwick entered the room and made his bow. Lydia found it very vexing that there was nothing amiss with his clothing or manners, there was no reason whatsoever that a prickle of irritation shot up her neck when he entered. She braced herself to graciously accept being ignored by him and, hoping to see him make a fool of himself to Georgiana, schooled her face into bored indifference.   
  
To her surprise, after offering Miss Darcy perfunctory congratulations on her betrothal he turned to her and addressed her directly for perhaps the second time in their acquaintance.    
  
“Miss Bennet, might I persuade you to come out riding with me as far as Hyde Park? The ground has dried up now and we might have a pleasant canter if you liked.”

Lydia, quite shocked at such unusual civility from him, did  _ not _ like but she was prevented from saying so by her elder sister entering the room.    
  
Mr. Warwick bowed again, his green eyes assessing and cold. “Mrs. Darcy, good morning madam. I can see that you are well; I was hoping to persuade your sister, Miss Bennet, to come riding with me this morning, if you do not object.”   
  
“'Tis a charming thought, Mr. Warwick and if my sister does not mind a morning of exercise I cannot see any objection.”   
  
Lydia, having thought of a reasonable excuse piped up. “I did not think Mr. Darcy was wishful for us to go out without asking him first, sister.”   
  
“Very proper of you, dearest, but I think that between Mr. Warwick and a groom, you ought to be well enough protected.” She paused and looked concerned, “If you are feeling frightened to go out, I am sure Mr. Warwick would understand it. I do not know if you have heard sir, but my dear sisters were set upon at the beginning of the week by ruffians.”

  
He was watching Lydia still, with that careful green a gaze and she felt a chill. “I did indeed hear of it, madam, of course I would understand if Miss Bennet were frightened.”   
  
It was almost indiscernible, the slightest touch of contempt that coloured his last word, but Lydia picked up on it and the chill disappeared to be replaced with the heat of hurt pride.   
  
“Frightened? I am not in the  _ least _ bit afraid.”

  
It had not been  _ entirely _ true, she thought, as she scrambled into her riding habit with the harrassed assistance of Cason, her maid. Her hands were trembling as she did up her gloves and clutched her whip. A quick glance in the mirror assured her that she looked very well, the blue of the habit and the flowing lines of the skirt suited her height. If one ignored the restless, worried eyes that looked back at her in the mirror, one might be thoroughly convinced that she was just like any other young lady, going out for a ride with a suitor.   
  
Except he was  _ not _ her suitor. He was Georgiana’s. Lydia wondered what he was about when he had ignored her so completely for nigh on a month and  _ she _ did not even like him enough to have felt slighted by it.    
  
The groom helped to throw her up into the saddle and once Mr. Warwick had mounted, they set off. Lydia felt her courage returning with every pace her horse took.    
  
Mr. Warwick, still looking at her in that horrid, assessing fashion, had maintained his silence. The groom rode some eight yards behind them.   
  
Lydia, bored very quickly of silence, broke it with an opening volley.

“I do hope, Mr. Warwick, that you are not too crushingly disappointed to hear of Miss Darcy’s engagement to Mr. Kentmire. I  _ did _ warn you, you know.”   
  
It was not in her nature to dance around a topic but far from taking offence, Mr. Warwick looked a little amused. “You are very direct, Miss Bennet. No, I am not in the least bit crushingly disappointed. As you correctly surmised, it was not so much Miss Darcy that interested me as her fortune. You need not worry on that head.”   
  
He did not seem at all embarrassed by the confession and Lydia frowned. “Oh I was not, I am glad of course that you are not nursing a broken heart- Miss Darcy is very sweet and has never wished to injure anyone.”   
  
He looked bored by the subject and Lydia was nettled.    
  
“Do tell me, Mr. Warwick, if you find my company tedious, I should be quite content to return home you know.”   
  
“It is not your company, Miss Bennet, but I have no interest in discussing Miss Darcy with you.” They rounded a corner and crossed over the road to enter the gates of Hyde Park. Lydia spotted a few of her acquaintances and waved to them. “I do hope you have not taken any serious injury during the unpleasantness of your encounter in the park the other morning, Miss Bennet.”   
  
He sounded almost sincere when he said that and Lydia could very nearly understand why he had such a reputation for being too charming with ladies.   
  
“Oh I am well enough, I gained for myself a bruise or two but it is of little matter. “   
  
“From what I heard, you dealt out a few also.”   
  
“Where can you have heard that?” exclaimed she.   
  
Mr. Warwick looked mysterious, his pale eyes taunting her. “Ah I cannot reveal all of my sources to you, Miss Bennet, but it is a reliable one.”   
  
Lydia frowned, deeply unsettled by this man.    
  
“Why did you wish to ride out with me?” she demanded, “Have you an odd curiosity about young ladies being set upon that you wish to satisfy?”

“No, Miss Bennet, I don’t wish to bleed you for information- do come down out of the rafters, my pet. We shall be friendly now, I promise. I will not seek to expose any  _ mysteries _ you want hidden.”

  
She maneuvered her horse between a cart and an irritated carriage driver in silence. When she had accomplished this she eventually answered him.   
  
“I do not in the least bit understand you, Mr. Warwick- I have nothing to hide. I am exactly as I seem to be. I just thought your excessive interest to be distasteful, that is all.”    
  
“Like the baying mob that crowds about a public hanging?” he quietly asked, a smile hovering in the corners of his mouth.    
  
She nodded hesitantly, surprised that he had summed up her discomfort so well when she herself could not have done.    
  
He changed the subject then and became very nearly engaging for the rest of their ride. She was not in the least bit pleased by him but allowed that he could be entertaining when he exerted himself.

  
When they arrived back at the house, Lydia realised that although she had not been easy in his company, she had not given more than two thoughts to the possibility of being attacked again, at least Mr. Warwick had proved useful in  _ that _ regard.    
  
He dismounted smoothly from his horse and tossed the reins to the waiting boy. “I shall assist you down, Miss Bennet if you will permit.”    
  
Lydia, being no stranger to depressing presumption, lifted her eyebrows at him, glad to have the upper hand, “It hardly signifies sir, the groom will help me.” Nodding to the man in question she reached her hands down and thanked him carelessly.    
  
Duly snubbed, Mr. Warwick offered his arm up the steps but Lydia was occupied with the train of her habit and carried her whip in the other hand so declined once again.   
  
“In short, Miss Bennet, you need no assistance at all from me. I am very neatly put in my place I see.” 

Lydia impatiently put back her veil and noted that his eyes looked immediately to her right cheek. She covered it with her gloved hand, wondering why she disliked him knowing of it. It had been a much uglier bruise the day before but had now faded to yellow and was easily covered by a little powder. He noticed her wary look and his mouth twisted.   
  
“I see it is not so very bad after all, I am glad of it.” She could see then, why he had such a reputation for charm, even if  _ she _ had seen little of it, he sounded absolutely truthful but something like mistrust danced along her nerves. 

Cooly, she waved off the platitude. “No, it is not so bad, just a little thing. Are you coming inside? My sister will have tea soon, I should think- but you must not let me keep you from your other commitments, Mr. Warwick, I am sure you are a very busy man.”   
  
“I am a gentleman, my dear, it is a point of pride for me to never be too busy to wait upon a beautiful lady.”    


Lydia took a glance back at the horses as they were being led away to the stable and the reason for her mistrust clicked into place like the latch on a very heavy door.    
  
“How long have you had your horse, Mr. Warwick?” she asked accusingly.   
  
He looked back at it and barely hesitated before replying, “no, Miss Bennet, I will not sell you my horse, he would be far too strong for you to manage.”   
  
Lydia stared at him. “My only interest in your horse is that I fancy I have seen it before, very recently.”    
  
He smirked, “I daresay it was too much to hope that you would have noticed its owner.”    
  
Clearly, this man thought that she would not call him out on his bluff, did he think her so constrained by polite society that she would not roundly declare him to be a villain based on her suspicions?    
  
She led him into Lizzy’s favourite room, where she often served tea. It was empty and she rounded on him.   
  
“I did not tell you that I was struck on the cheek, Mr. Warwick,” said Lydia, seriously, her heart beating at a rapid pace. “In fact, I think that you are more hopeful that I did  _ not _ recognise your horse’s owner.” 

Something like admiration crossed his face and she knew for certain that she had found him out.    
  
“It would have been simpler if you had not,” he admitted and Lydia drew back a pace from him in surprise. “No, don’t cower from me, what precisely do you think I would do in your brothers home? Come and sit down like a civilised person and we will talk.”   
  
“How can we sit down like civilised people when one of us is not?” said she, rudely. “I do not know what you are about, Mr. Warwick but you will  _ not _ harm Miss Darcy. She will be married very soon, I will  _ encourage _ her to hurry up with it, whatever scheme you have planned will fail...and I am  _ not _ afraid of you.”   
  
“I hope it will not,” he replied, ignoring her bluntness, “Miss Darcy may marry Mr. Kentmire with my blessing, not that she needs it- I told you earlier, I believe, that I had no interest in discussing her with you.”    
  
Lydia shook her head, “I do not believe you. Why try to abduct her and then give up so swiftly- she is still a wealthy heiress and you are still a dreadful knave...so why give up?”    
  
His eyes rested on her face for a moment before he decided to speak honestly, “because I witnessed what I had never thought to see. An extraordinary young woman showed all the courage of a man and fought off two hired ruffians.” His eyes almost glowed, so pale they looked in the light airy room, “I do not think I have ever been more surprised in my life, I compliment you, my dear- having freed yourself, you turned your horse about again to aid the others. I covet that sort of loyalty.”   
  
The blood thrummed in Lydia’s ears and she felt sick.    
  
“Why tell me this? I do not at all understand. You admit that you are a villain and then tell me...what exactly? I do hope you do not think you are in love with me or any such horrid notion.”   
  
“Why not?” said he, seriously.   
  
“I think you are a madman.” she spat at him. “How dare you? Do you think I want anything to do with a man like you? I do not. I have more sense than that, for all people think me an empty-headed, frippery girl. If you come near this house again, I shall tell Mr. Darcy all you have admitted and he will very likely have you hung or some such thing.”   
  
Mr. Warwick laughed. “I do not think so, I am still the next Earl after all. There is not a court in the land that would hang a powerful man on such spurious evidence as your say so.”   
  
“Well he will probably challenge you to a duel then.” she spat, furious now.    
  
Mr. Warwick took a seat, “it is possible, if he believed you.” he said, considering the matter.    
  
“No, do not sit down, you are not staying. You are...oh I cannot think of anything bad enough to call you but you are  _ not staying _ . I do not want you here.”   
  
It was unfortunate for Lydia that her sister chose that moment to walk in, carrying her son in her arms.    
  
“Lydia!” she exclaimed, looking at Mr. Warwick for any signs of offence. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Warwick, my sister is not ordinarily guilty of such bad manners- I can only suppose that she is overwrought by the events earlier this week. Will you stay for tea? I hope you had a pleasant ride? Miss Darcy has gone out with Mr. Kentmire, so I am afraid she is not in. Lydia, will you ring the bell, please? Theodore is in need of his nurse, I think.”    
  
Lydia looked at Elizabeth, lost for words, and went to ring the bell. She looked at her nephew, then at her sister and then at the odious Mr. Warwick who was entirely unruffled and murmuring that he was not in the least bit offended by Miss Bennet's high spirited manner. Lydia yanked the cord that hung in the corner of the room.    
  
Elizabeth looked at her smilingly and then tilted her head in question. This was her moment, she had only to tell her sister, to openly accuse Mr. Warwick of his crime and Lizzy would believe her and tell Mr. Darcy. The baby waved a tiny fingered hand in the air, patting his mama on the cheek.    
  
Lydia hesitated.

  
Only it  _ would _ be a pity if Mr. Darcy were injured or killed, Lizzy would be very upset and their son would never know his Papa.   


Lydia shook her head in response to her sister's silent question, angry at the unfairness of life that Mr. Warwick might get away with it.    
  
Her nephew wailed angrily and Lydia was inclined to agree.    
  
“Oh my dear, do excuse me for a moment, I had better take him upstairs myself. Lydia, pour for Mr. Warwick, will you, dearest?”   
  
Then she left the room in a flutter of primrose silk and an armful of an increasingly cross baby.   
  
“Having second thoughts about getting me hanged, Lydia? Do you know, I like that name, it suits you.”    
  
Offended, Lydia hissed at him, “I don’t care if you like it, you  _ hateful _ man, you mayn’t use it. I would very cheerfully see you hanged. Oh, I wish you would go!”   
  
“I can’t go,” he said reasonably, “Mrs. Darcy has promised me a cup of tea, poured by your own fair hand, and I want to ask Mr. Darcy’s permission to marry you.”   
  
Lydia well nigh snarled at him then and stamped her foot. “Are you so stupid that you cannot tell when a woman hates you? If I give you any tea at all I will throw it at you. I shan’t marry you so you can save yourself the humiliation of being rejected. Do get out, Mr. Warwick- whatever games you are entertaining yourself with are not amusing  _ me _ .”   
  
“I want to know why you did not reveal your suspicions to your sister, and then I will take myself off for now.”   
  
“Why should I tell you that? Who are you to demand any answers of me?”    
  
“Very well, I hope the maid will come in soon, I shall enjoy a cup or two of tea.”    
  
“I cannot for the life of me imagine why you would remain when you are so clearly not wanted. If I tell you,” demanded Lydia, “will you leave?”    
  
He nodded once and she huffed an irritated sigh.   
  
“My nephew does not deserve to grow up fatherless and my sister is too happy to be widowed.  I do not doubt that you are precisely the kind of horrid creature that would shoot to kill in a duel and so I have remained silent. If... _ if _ ...you will leave Miss Darcy alone and not try to interfere with her and not try to abduct again her I will keep quiet, but if you try anything I will tell all.”    
  
He rose then and Lydia did not trouble to hide her relief. He crossed over to where she stood and she retreated a step. Her hand went to a little side table upon which rested a heavy silver statue of a Grecian lady bearing an urn. Curling her fingers around its neck, Lydia was entirely prepared to hurl it. Mr. Warwick stopped where he was.

  
“There is no need for your fear, Lydia. I was merely going to kiss your hand.” 

  
“I do not want you to kiss my hand. I do not want you to come anywhere near this house again and do not dare to call me by my Christian name ever again, Mr. Warwick. I do not know how many times I must repeat this to you but I am _ not afraid of you _ . If I retreated it is because I think you are utterly repugnant and I have never known such a wicked cur as you.”   


“I wonder,” said Mr. Warwick pleasantly, “if you can be aware of the things I have done to men for such insults as you have thrown at me.” He bowed deeply and turned to depart. “I shall call upon you tomorrow, _Miss_ _Bennet.”_  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a little with this chapter, don't know that it is quite what I had intended it to be but at the same time, I like it enough to not want to hack it up again. Bit odd! 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)

Lydia Bennet was no coward, she knew this for certain fact. She may not have given a great deal of thought as to the origin of her courage but she was aware of its existence. The next time she saw the Dreadful Mr. Warwick, he had marched up to her as she stood beside Jane Bingley, as bold as brass and requested her hand for the first dance.

Miss Bennet, entirely unwilling to sit out of dancing for an entire evening on his low account, accepted with little grace. In fact, she quite made up her mind as he led her out to the floor, that she would be as uncivil as she could possibly get away with in public- she hoped that the horrid man would not manage to get her alone but if he did she would drop all veneer of politeness and show him how little she thought of him.   
  
“I like your dress.” He said, before he bowed deeply.    
  
“I do not care.” she retorted, as she barely curtseyed, elegantly sweeping her light green skirts out of the way, before smiling sunnily at the man further down the set who was to take a turn with her.   
  
“You were out yesterday when I called,” he remarked.   
  
“Yes,” said Lydia, shortly, “for that very reason.”

Mr. Warwick had a skin like shoe leather, she decided. Disdain all put poured from her as they danced and he did not heed it one little bit. It was quite exhausting really, to think of impolite things to say to him in return for his compliments, if she did not know what a cad he was it would have made her feel quite churlish. What was worse was that Mr. Warwick seemed to realise it.   
  
“Are you coming to my cousin’s rout party tomorrow evening?” he asked.   
  
“Yes.” she bit out, knowing there was no getting out of it.   
  
“May I reserve a dance?”   
  
“No.” She said, very irritated.    
  
“Do you not intend to dance tomorrow, Miss Bennet?” he sounded surprised.   
  
“I am afraid I will have the headache for that dance. Doubtless I will recover once it is over.”    
  
“Very well.” He replied, seeming to accept the rebuff. The dance at this point called for them to link arms above their heads as they turned slowly on the spot. Lydia, obliged to look up in order to glower at him decided that it was her least favourite dance and elected to look away instead.   
  
He looked down at her consideringly and his thin lips formed a smile. “You had best accept it, Lydia, I am very persistent.”   
  
Her eyes shot to his.    
  
“Don’t call me  _ Lydia _ , nodcock, someone might hear you! If you are attempting to force my hand into marrying you, I shan’t. Even if you abducted me and made me, I should stab you in your sleep, depend upon it.”   
  
He laughed, a few other dancers noted it and murmured amongst themselves that Miss Bennet must truly be a sparkling wit if she had succeeded in amusing the top lofty gentleman.   
  
“Do you know,” he said, “I really think you would.”   
  
“I would.” Confirmed Lydia. “I really wish you would desist. It is not as though you could afford me at any rate.”   
  
“I wonder where you can have gotten the impression that I am impoverished, my pet. Things are not so bad as all that, for all I thought Miss Darcy’s fortune might suit me nicely for a year or two. You will soon see, Lydia, how it is not in my nature to give up when there is something I want.”   
  
Sourly, Lydia took his hand to promenade, releasing it as soon as they had moved down the dance enough. “I do not think you are so persistent as you believe. You called off your hounds pretty swiftly as soon as you met with any resistance the other day.”   
  
“I was not at all myself at that moment I confess. Falling headlong into love with a young woman I have barely spoken to is not an experience I have encountered before. I promise you, my pet, that you will know me better soon enough.”   
  
“I do not think it.” Was all Lydia would say, and refused to speak to him any further until he returned her to Mrs. Darcy.    
  
In the space of one party, word spread around the room like wildfire that Mr. Warwick had clearly abandoned his suit of Miss Darcy and was pursuing Miss Bennet of Hertfordshire- Mrs. Darcy’s nearly penniless sister.    
  
Beau Brummell heard of it at Whites and strolled over to call on her and congratulate her on her conquest.    
  
Lydia ordinarily found him a very amusing man but on this occasion laughed bitterly and shook her head. She would be glad when notice of Georgiana’s engagement appeared in the papers.   
  
“I hope you’ve not wagered on it, Mr. Brummell- I would hate to see you lose money based on gossip.”   
  
“My dear Miss Bennet!” exclaimed he, “there have been many caps set at Mr. Warwick and all have failed to make any headway. Do you mean to tell me that you don’t  _ want _ the fellow? How extraordinary.”   
  
“Well you see, Mr. Brummell- he inflicted the most dreadful waistcoat on us last evening, I shall spare you a description but I could  _ not _ be interested in a man who was badly dressed, after all.”   
  
“Beautifully delivered, Miss Bennet,” He said, with that charming smile hovering about his lips, “I shall be certain to quote you verbatim. I almost wish I had thought of it myself.”   
  
He went away smiling and was true to his word. Miss Bennet, whispered the ton, who must be held to be a Judge of such matters, did not like Mr. Warwick's waistcoats and so would have none of him. Naturally, this reached the ears of her suitor and the next time he saw her, he approached while she was amongst a crowd of eager young gentlemen. They parted, waiting to see if she would send him on his way.   
  
“I have heard, Miss Bennet- that you did not at all care for the waistcoat I wore last time we danced. I am relieved to hear it, for it is so easily amended, I had worried that there was a more pressing reason that you did not seem pleased by me. Have you any objection to the one I am currently wearing?”   
  
Lydia sipped at her drink, one of her admirers had eagerly run to fetch it her after she had complained of thirst and she had been delighted to be waited on so well. She regarded the waistcoat seriously. Here was a grand opportunity to publicly snub the man and be well rid of him.    
  
“I adore the pattern, Mr. Warwick,” she said, grinning wickedly, “I have a nostalgia for such floral patterns as that, my grandmama had such a print hanging at the windows of her music room.”   
  
A shout of laughter went up amongst the gentlemen but was silenced when Mr. Warwick, instead of looking wounded smiled in such a way that gave Lydia to understand that she had played into his hands and her eyes widened.    
  
He bowed to her and turned to depart.   
  
“Warwick, where are you going man?” called Mr. Spillings.   
  
“To change my waistcoat, of course- then Miss Bennet will have no reason to refuse to dance with me.”   
  
He said it loudly enough to attract the attention of Mrs. Darcy and several of the matrons present.    
  
If rumour had been rife before, it was now rampant. Miss Bennet was clearly destined to become Mrs. Warwick, surely she would not have been so bold as to tell him to change his clothing if she did not mean to accept him.   
  
He returned within the hour, wearing a green affair with a gold thread running throughout it. It was not a  _ bad _ effort but it was the wrong shade of green for him, she suspected that he knew it.   
  
Elizabeth, having listened with increasing dismay to Mrs. St. John’s report of the matter to her, saw him enter, saw Lydia’s eyes widen and leaned in to whisper in her ear while taking her in the opposite direction to Mr. Warwick.

“Lydia dearest, take care. Everyone in this room will be watching you. Refuse to dance with him and you will be labelled a dreadful flirt, dance with him and they will all think you and he are a settled thing.”

  
Beginning to feel a little alarmed, Lydia whispered back. “Should I feign a headache?”    
  
“On no account! If you run away _now_ people will talk even more.”   
  
“Lizzy, what should I  _ do _ then?” Her voice neared a whine.   
  
“What can he be about, I wonder. I so was sure that he was angling for Georgiana! Are all of your dances taken?”    
  
“All but the last.”   
  
“Well then, you had better dance with Fitzwilliam and we will carry things off. Don’t fret, little sister- we will manage very well. Go to the ladies retiring room and write in Mr. Darcy’s name on your card. I will find Fitzwilliam. If Mr. Warwick approaches you had better say that you would, of course, have obliged him after such efforts as he has made but sadly all your dances are taken.”   
  
“Oh that is very good,” said Lydia, rather enjoying the thought of foiling any of Mr. Warwick’s schemes, “ I will do that- thank you Lizzy.”   
  
Mrs. Darcy glided off to find her husband and charm him into aiding her youngest sister while Lydia made her way to the little room reserved for the ladies who needed to pin up their dresses or fix their appearances.    
  
Mr. Warwick wandered over after she had reentered the ballroom and Lydia, seeing him coming stepped a little closer to Mrs. Colchester and her matronly friends, bidding them a polite good evening.    
  
“Will you dance with me  _ now _ , Miss Bennet?” asked he, a gleam of mockery in his eyes.   
  
Lydia fluttered her painted fan and tried to speak as carelessly as she could. She could not manage Lizzy's arch lightness and so careless it must be.    
  
“La! Mr. Warwick, how amusing you are sir. I  _ would _ have been only too pleased to dance with you but your condescension has persuaded all the other young men at the ball that I am so delightful a companion that I fear there are no more dances left to me- I am so  _ dreadfully _ sorry.”   
  
She heard the starched-up Mrs. Colchester mutter a low, “good gel!” behind her and felt glad of the approval.

Mr. Warwick, his aim achieved, regardless of the outcome in terms of dancing, looked sardonic and said, “It is my loss, Miss Bennet, I am sure. I shall be sure to wear this waistcoat next time I see you and seek your approval on others ahead of time- to avoid such disappointment.” 

  
Taking advantage of the public setting he reached for her gloved hand, noticing the slight flinch she made and kissed it, muttering quietly as he did so, so that only she could hear, “I guarantee you, Miss Bennet, you will not have half so many young men desirous of a dance with you by the time the week is out,” before he said more audibly, “enjoy your dances, Madam. Good evening.”   
  
Lydia could not entirely work out how he had done it, but within two weeks she was obliged to own that he had been correct. The young men that had flocked to dance with Beau Brummell’s favourite dwindled considerably in the face of Mr. Warwick determined pursuit. Never one to be cast down quickly, she tossed her head and made a glib remark to Lady Beatrice that she could not care for cowardly men so the smaller number of admiring gentlemen at parties did not trouble her in the slightest.   
  
She was happily browsing the selection of fabrics Hatchard’s had available with her Ladyship at the time. Mr. Darcy had permitted her to go out with Lady Beatrice but only if Mibbs might accompany her and that he be armed with a gun. Her brother in law had not smiled when she had suggested that he might like to provide  _ her _ with a weapon also to further bolster her safety. She had only been half joking when she said it. Indeed, she thought, as she ran a hand across a gold damask that would look delightful for a ballgown, if she could find out where to purchase one, she would do so.   
  
Lady Beatrice, having a very indulgent father, bought three different bolts of cloth that afternoon with little thought as to whether or not she might actually wear them. Lydia was not jealous precisely but wished she might do the same. Instead, she selected only a length of blue ribbon for Georgiana and a pretty chinese silk reticule for herself. Lydia might frequently find herself with little money available at the end of a quarter but she was not miserly. If she wanted to wed a rich man, it was not solely for the purposes of living in luxury herself.   
  
She had given the matter much thought, over the years, since Lizzy had first suggested that not marrying well meant harder work for a wife. It had taken her a good while to realise that although she wanted a charming, handsome husband- she also wanted a generous one who would not quibble with her if she wished to spend her money on pretty things. Surely such a man must exist in London?   
  
“Look, Justin! It is Lady Beatrice and Miss Bennet, Good afternoon.”   
  
The young ladies curtsied to the Countess of Warwick, who was on the arm of her husband’s cousin. Lydia’s lips tightened when Mr. Warwick caught her eye with a smile.    
  
The countess, unaware that Miss Bennet had quickly turned her head to ascertain the whereabouts of Mibbs, struck up a conversation with Lady Beatrice about her purchases that day. Mr. Warwick drew beside Lydia and ran his hand over the gold cloth that she had previously been admiring.   


“This would look well on you, I think. There is something about the warmth of it...although I cannot tell what it should be.”   
  
Lydia, for all she detested the man, could not resist educating him.   
  
“A ballgown,  _ obviously _ . It would look garish in full daylight but candlelight would make it shimmer delightfully.” Lest he think that she was being friendly, she frowned at him when he looked triumphant.   
  
“This is your favourite place?” he asked, unwilling to let her be.   
  
“I cannot see that it is any of your business where my favourite place is, Mr. Warwick.” snapped Lydia.    
  
“You looked happy,” he mused, “when I spied you through the window, I mean. I had thought that you were at your most cheerful at a ball, but I do not think that is right.”   
  
“Mr. Warwick…” said Lydia, annoyed.   
  
“I know, I know….you hate me and I am a contemptible swine- but what is the harm in speaking with me?”   
  
“I only speak with you because the talk will be quite dreadful if I don’t. Why can you not see that I do not want to know a man such as you?”   
  
“Because you don’t know me, Lydia. You have naively painted me as a villain for one questionable act.”   
  
“Questionable!” she cried and then winced- for it drew the attention of Lady Warwick and Lady Beatrice.    
  
Mr. Warwick smiled widely at the other ladies and lied through his teeth without a blush.    
  
“Miss Bennet does not think I ought to have this beautiful gold fabric for a greatcoat, cousin- what think you of that?”   
  
Lady Warwick looked at the gold cloth and her delicate grey eyebrows spasmed.    
  
“I think it is a very good thing that you asked me for my advice when we were outside the shop, Justin. A  _ coat,  _ absolutely not. You need a darker, heavier fabric- you’d be a laughing stock if you wore that, not that any reputable tailor would do it for you. Miss Bennet is quite correct. Lady Beatrice is going to show me where the silver net is, Justin. Do not, on any account let him buy anything without my aid, Miss Bennet!”    
  
The other two ladies went to the far corner of the shop and Lydia scowled at the man she was left with.   


“It wasn’t  _ questionable _ to try to steal Miss Darcy and you know it!” she hissed at him.   
  
“I will admit that I was wrong, Miss Bennet, will that suffice?”   
  
Lydia was flummoxed and shook her head at him, entirely devoid of speech.   
  
“Are you going to buy it then?” he asked, seeing that she would not answer his earlier question.   
  
“What?”   
  
“The cloth, Lydia. Are you going to buy that gold cloth and wear it as a ballgown?” he said, very patiently as though speaking to a child.   
  
“No.” she replied reluctantly, “I want to go and find Lady Beatrice now, we should be returning home soon or my sister will worry.”    
  
“Why not?” he continued, as though she had not just dismissed him again, casually leaning his elbow on the bolt where it rested on the shelf.   
  
Impatiently Lydia half turned to face him, having started to walk away. “Because I want to buy a gun instead.”   
  
Mr. Warwick was surprised into genuine laughter and took a moment to compose himself. He walked with her across Hatchard’s to find the others.    
  
“That is more my area of expertise, my pet. You should take my advice on the matter, just as I will take yours regarding my waistcoats. You might buy a pretty little weapon that is entirely useless at firing with any accuracy.”   
  
“I don’t care what it looks like,” said Lydia pertly, “I just want one that will put a hole through the next rogue who tries to take what doesn’t belong to them.” She spied the two ladies by the array of silver and gold net, being assisted by a very obliging shop boy and waved. “Oh Lady Beatrice, shall you mind if Mibbs returns us to Darcy House? My sister is still on edge if I am out for too long.”   
  
Her Ladyship did not mind in the least and after bidding Mr. Warwick and the Countess a far more civil farewell than Lydia did, the two left the shop with their purchases.   
  
Some ten days after her shopping trip, Lydia was presented with a small, neatly wrapped box by her maid after she had finished dressing.    
  
“Thank you, Cason. I do not remember ordering anything but perhaps Mama has sent me the old ribbons that I said I should like, I thought Master Theodore may like to play with them. I shall open it in a little while, you may go now.”   
  
After Cason had left, Lydia tossed the box onto the bed and turned to leave the room. Having nearly reached the door she hesitated. The box had been far too heavy to contain merely ribbons and, her curiosity being peaked, she decided to open it immediately. The clock face informed her that she had a mere few minutes to do so or she would risk being late for breakfast again and her brother-in-law would frown, Georgiana would look shocked and worst of all, Lizzy would be disappointed.   
  
The box did not contain her old ribbons. Inside the wrapping lay a little gun, just the right size for a young lady to conceal in a muff or reticule.    
  
Lydia sat down heavily on the bed. It was not at all arduous to realise who had sent it, what was difficult to comprehend...was  _ why  _ had he sent it to her? The clock chimed and Lydia hastily thrust the little weapon under her pillow and sped from the room.    
  
She spent much of breakfast in silence, troubled by the gift that was upstairs in her bed and very unsettled in her mind as to what she ought to do with it. She could not return it directly to his hands for fear of someone seeing and gossiping about it. Neither could she tell anyone of it for fear of Mr. Darcy’s finding out and making a fuss. Lydia spread butter and jam thickly onto her slice of bread and had eaten it without even registering that she had done so. Georgiana noticed her reverie.    
  
“Is aught amiss, Lydia? Are you unwell?” she asked quietly when the others at the table had risen to serve themselves more food.   
  
“Oh, I am never ill,” said Lydia, “I am in a quandary over something, that is all. Nothing very significant, really. I shall come about.”   
  
“That is good then...I do not wish to impose on you Lydia, but would you mind accompanying Elizabeth and I to the dressmaker this afternoon? If I am to be wed in less than a month, I want to be sure that I am well outfitted and would be grateful for your guidance. I cannot at all decide upon the length of sleeve you know, will you come?”   
  
Lydia nodded agreeably. It sounded like the very thing she needed to distract her from Mr. Warwick’s perplexing behaviour.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept my apologies for the lateness of this, life has been so busy and this was sat three quarters written until this morning. 
> 
> On the plus side, I think I can get properly on with the next chapter now because I have ironed out a pivotal point that I was a bit stuck on.
> 
> I do not in any way expect you lovely readers to do this, the point is that you enjoy your time reading (hopefully!) but if you see any mistakes I have made that you feel ought to be corrected, please feel free to let me know. I shan't be in the least bit offended, only glad of the opportunity to improve. I don't have beta readers so mistakes are bound to creep in. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

On a bright afternoon, Lydia was promenading in the park with Sir Daniel James at the fashionable hour. Her maid followed at a slight distance with Mibbs, who nearly always carried a gun with him ever since Mr. Darcy had given him orders to be armed. If she were to describe Sir Daniel to her Mama in one of her short and infrequent letters, Lydia had little doubt that Mrs. Bennet would encourage her towards him. He was an older gentleman, nearing forty years old and a widower. His wife having passed away some twelvemonth before in childbirth, he found it necessary to once again find a wife, his family lands being in need of an heir. For some reason, he had decided that Miss Bennet was an adequate candidate and set out to woo her. He spoke of his estate which was not a large affair, he said, but quite comfortable enough. His late wife, he hinted, had done a great deal to it when they were first married so it had been fairly recently decorated. He also remarked that he had known the late Lady James since he was a boy and had pointedly remarked that between the ages of twenty and twenty-five, a young woman did much growing up. Lydia wrinkled her nose at that but remained silent and listened.   
  
She found that around Sir Daniel, she _could_ not speak a lot. She often felt that he was evaluating her when she spoke, he never said so directly, but he would ever so politely censure her if she said anything that he deemed unsuitable. Lydia did not especially like the feeling of being judged and wondered if she ought to send him off on his way. She did not, however, for of all the gentlemen that had paid her attention since the beginning of the season, he was perhaps the most likely to come up to scratch and actually propose. The question was, did she want him? She mused it over as they walked along, arm in arm.   
  
She saw Mr. Warwick on his horse ride up near to them. He bowed to her from his seat and nodded very cooly to Sir Daniel.   
  
“Miss Bennet, how do you do. I hope that you are not out unprotected? Oh no, I see that you have your groom and your maid with you.”   
  
Sir Daniel did not rise to the insult, much to Lydia’s disappointment.   
  
“Mr. Warwick, I have been wanting to speak to you,” she said, trying to sound convincing about it, “shall you be at the theatre tonight? Grimaldi is playing the clown again.”   
  
Sir Daniel patiently interjected that he rather thought Miss Bennet might have preferred Mr. Kean for his _edifying_ Shakespearean performances. Lydia did not roll her eyes at him but it was a close run thing for her.   
  
“La! Sir Daniel, I am sure he is a very good actor in his way but I favour Grimaldi, especially if it is an amusing piece. Half of the fun of the theatre is dressing for it, after all.”

  
The creases between Sir Daniel James’ eyebrows deepened at the dismissal, well she was sure she did not care in the least if he thought her a silly girl, Shakespeare was more often than not _odiously_ dull.   
  
Mr. Warwick, his pale eyes smiling down at her, laughed. “I shall be there, Miss Bennet, I shall find you in the interval no doubt.”   
  
He did so, and if he had thought by her earlier civility that she had quite changed her opinion of him, he was soon disabused of the notion when Lydia lost no time in ripping up at him as soon as they were in relative privacy.   
  
“What are you about, Mr. Warwick? A _gun_ arrived addressed to me and _I_ certainly did not order it and as you are the only other man apart from Mr. Darcy who I have said anything about one to, I can only assume you are out to ruin me.”  
  
“Oh has it come already? Yes, I can see why Mr. Darcy is cleared of suspicion, a very _serious_ fellow isn’t he? It fires beautifully, my pet. You ought to point it in the direction of that prosy bore I saw you walking with this morning. Don’t you like it? You said you wanted one and I am only too happy to oblige. Women are usually so boring in their wants, I haven’t ever been asked for a gun before.”  
  
“You weren’t _asked_ this time,” said Lydia, now very familiar with the feeling of vexation when around this man. “I was merely reminding you that you would be the most likely target if I had one.”  
  
“Well now you do, so you will doubtless be much more at ease around me." Mr. Warwick said, carelessly,  "if you marry me soon, I will show you how to shoot the thing straight. I daresay you’d be a rare female that might manage to do so quite well.”  
  
Repressing any pleasure she might have felt at the compliment she replied with some spirit,  “You think I will forget that _incident_ in the park merely because you have bought me a gift that I cannot possibly accept? It was not merely _me_ that was fri.... _annoyed_ , simpleton!”  
  
A gleam crept into his eyes, they were a warmer shade of green in the candlelit theatre foyer, Lydia acknowledged to herself that for all his faults, his eyes were uniquely beautiful.   
  
“Shall I buy one for the future Mrs. Kentmire, Lydia? I will if you desire me to.”  
  
A gurgle of laughter escaped her and was hastily suppressed when he looked triumphant. She ought not to be laughing with such villainous wretch, but the image of poor Georgiana attempting to explain such a gift to her husband or brother struck her as wickedly amusing.   
  
She sounded a little friendlier when she said, “I wish you would not, I should probably be blamed for it. Send her a little white kitten instead, she has wanted one forever but Mr. Darcy quite detests them.”  
  
“Should you? That seems unfair, unless of course it is the sort of thing you might do for a lark.”  
  
Lydia considered the matter, honesty compelled her to admit to herself that she and Mr. Warwick were not entirely dissimilar in that respect. It was an uncomfortable realisation and she frowned.  
  
He saw instantly that she was back to despising him again and spoke urgently. “Lydia, it is not so great a thing, is it? I wanted to buy you a pretty gift and so I did, if keeping it in your reticule will make you realise that you need not be so afraid...I beg your pardon I meant _annoyed_...by me then surely it is a good thing?”  
  
Lydia looked up at him, feeling vulnerable and angry because of it. She felt even crosser when she realised her own hypocrisy in her response.  
  
“A lady can’t accept expensive gifts, Mr. Warwick. It isn’t _done_. If anyone found out I’d be ruined.”  
  
Mr. Warwick made a clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Conventions are so very wearisome, are they not, I suppose,’ he added carefully,  "you will only accept flowers from me then?”   
  
Having frequently expressed her impatience regarding the some of the more ridiculous rules surrounding her, Lydia could only nod and then bit her lip when he grinned. He kissed her hand before he walked away, having delivered her to the door of Mr. Darcy’s box.   
  
“Then I shall send you flowers, my pet.” he laughed, before sauntering away.  
  
He called one morning, bearing a bouquet in his hand when Sir Daniel James was taking his leave. He was returning to his estate in Devon for a few days and came to bid Lydia a very punctilious farewell.   
  
Mr. Warwick watched him bow over Lydia’s hand and sneered slightly. Georgiana was sat with Mrs. Darcy and Mr. Kentmire, discussing their upcoming nuptials and Mr. Warwick asked Mrs. Darcy if he might escort her sister to Bond Street. Leave was granted reluctantly by a wary Mrs. Darcy. She had not at all approved of the position he had put her sister in the last time she saw him.   
  
“How can you have known that I needed to go shopping?” Lydia demanded of him, once he handed her up into his open carriage with Cason settled beside the driver on the box, her eyes trained primly forward. She attempted to keep her tone vaguely civil for Cason's benefit and was dimly aware that she had failed when the woman stifled a gasp.  
  
Mr. Warwick stretched his legs out in front of him. “Do not all ladies always need to purchase something or another, Miss Bennet? I suppose the household is all wedding talk these days. I shall attend, I think. I should like to see a grand affair from a family that is not famed for excess.”   
  
The noise of the wheels on the cobbled road covered some of their talk and he brought the conversation round to Sir Daniel James.   
  
“Sir Daniel would be the same you know, depend upon it. You would not be at all happy with such a stuffed shirt, my pet. You had better forget about him, I think- I simply cannot see that he would suit you at all.”  
  
Lydia wished she might stick out her tongue at him but alas the risk of doing so in an open carriage was too great. “Not,” she said loftily, “that I think it is any of _your_ business, but Sir Daniel James is a very ri... respectable man.”  
  
“But is a mere fifteen thousand a year worth enduring such _boredom_ , I wonder?” asked the infuriating man beside her. "He would probably need to be revived with smelling salts if he found out the contents of that charming little reticule you are carrying, Lydia. Whereas if you would like to marry _me_ instead, I’d teach you how to actually use the thing. We could scandalise the servants by setting up targets on the front lawn.”  
  
“I detest black,” said Lydia, “My sister Mrs. Darcy is the only female I have ever encountered who wears it well and the even the thought of making myself _your_ widow cannot tempt me into marrying you first.”   
  
“But you need not fire it at me, my dear. I am known to be very charming when I set my mind to it and it may be that you decide you like me very well as a husband. Did you like your flowers?” He asked, smiling gently, a provocative gleam in his eye.   
  
Lydia was instantly suspicious, he had presented her earlier on with an unexceptional but beautiful bouquet of deep red roses. “Why, what have you done?”  
  
“Nothing _desperately_ wicked.” Seeing her look wary he laughed shortly and then sighed. “I despise the rules that society imposes on courtship, most of them are entirely useless. If I wished to buy something pretty for a young lady to wear, merely for the pleasure of her enjoyment, why may I not?”  
  
“You are not so bound up by useless rules as we women are, Mr. Warwick.” said Lydia, her interest quite caught by the fact there was another human being on earth who took her view of things, “‘tis monstrously unfair. If you knew the number of silly edicts that I had to commit to memory just to protect my reputation you would be vastly shocked.”  
  
“There now,” he nodded, satisfied, “you see that we are of a like mind in this, now we are making good progress.”  
  
Lydia sighed. “Mr. Warwick, I do not at all know what to make of you.” She sounded quite petulant, even to her own ears.  
  
Mr. Warwick lifted a placating hand, and spoke soothingly “You need only ask me what you wish to know, Lydia.”  
  
“You make no _sense_! Nothing you do adds up, it is very trying. I can see _why…”_ she lowered her voice, “I can see _why_ you tried to take Georgiana, her money, _that_ is clear as day but I cannot at all make out why, having been bested, you have transferred your _irritating_ attention to me. Men _hate_ being beaten.”  
  
“All men, Lydia?” he teased, “such a _young_ lady to have established such a thing with such surety.”  
  
“Well, I have not ever met a man that loses very graciously.”  
  
“I shall not argue with you on that score. Have I not already told you what changed my mind that day? Having spent my life _very_ certain I understood women and being _utterly_ sure that they could not surprise me, you did just that.” He paused and observed her wide eyes. “I spent some time fighting in Spain, you know, believe me when I say that your courage is a rare thing, even amongst men.”  
  
When Lydia had been returned back to Darcy House having bought what she needed from the haberdashers, Mr. Warwick watching her every perusal with unnerving attentiveness, she slipped up to her bedchamber to take off her pelisse and outdoor shoes. The roses had been laid on her dressing table, still in the pretty cream paper that they had been wrapped in. She pulled at it idly, thinking to free the flowers and have a maid put them in water. They _were_ pretty after all and why should she not enjoy them, even if it had been _him_ that sent them. She could always tell him she had tossed them away if he needed his pretensions depressing. Lydia could not help but smile at that, Mr. Warwick would _always_ need cutting down to size. He was not a timid man, after all.  
  
His voice echoed in her head as she thought on what he had said in the carriage. It was not the words that she could not shake from her mind, but the caressing tone of voice with which he said them. Gentlemen had flirted with her before, and often, some of them had even dared to whisper in her ear that they adored her and such pretty things as that, but she had never been spoken to by a man with that degree of tenderness before. It was very flattering but she was not quite sure how she felt about it.   
  
She separated the blooms and reached for a small pair of scissors with which to trim them. Picking one up she gasped loudly. Cason poked her head around the door to the dressing room.   
  
“Did you call me, Miss?”  
  
Lydia, her eyes fixed on the flowers front of her did not turn to face the door. In a slightly weak voice, she responded. “What? Oh. No Cason, I did not call you. I...I almost pricked my finger on these roses, that is all. It gave me a fright. Carry on with what you were doing.”  
  
“Very good, Miss Bennet.”  
  
Wound about the stems, gleaming with milky white purity, was a pearl necklace of some considerable length.  
  
Lydia swallowed and set to detangling it from the roses. Once she was done she lifted it up and stretched it out. It was nearly the length of her arm and stretched from shoulder to fingertip. Each pearl was beautifully matched with its mates on the thread. It was a very fine, very _expensive_ necklace.   
  
Quickly, before she could think twice about it, Lydia wound it about her neck three times and looked in the mirror. She bit her lip and something an awful lot like glee filled her.  
  
She had tried on her Mama’s pearls before and admired them immensely. They would go to Jane, of course, when Mrs. Bennet no longer lived and as a younger girl, Lydia had been quite sick with envy over them.   
  
Such a dreadful torment it was, to now have a necklace ten times as beautiful in her possession and know that she really _ought_ not to keep it. She could hardly wear it anyhow. Someone would be bound to ask her where it came from and she could hardly tell them the truth, could she? Lydia pondered the matter seriously, running a fingertip over the smoothness of the pearls and enjoying the cool weight of them against her skin.   
  
Quickly, she took it off and slipped it into the box that her gun had come in before hiding it in a drawer and quitting the room before she could be further tempted and resolved that she would not think of them or their giver any longer.  


The day of Miss Georgiana Darcy’s wedding dawned. The bride came down to breakfast looking as though she had not slept at all well. To Lydia, it was difficult to tell if she was excited or terrified but judging by Elizabeth’s soothing remarks it may well have been a healthy dose of both.   
  
Mr. Darcy, who was not usually a talkative man, barely spoke a word at breakfast- he did not appear to view the events of the day with any joy at all. Elizabeth did her best to cheer him and managed to bring forth a smile out of him but he soon relapsed into the doldrums.   
  
Lydia rather thought that on the day that she married, she would wish everyone to be happy and cheerful, just as she would be and struggled to comprehend the mournful looks on Mr. Darcy and Georgiana’s faces on what ought to surely be a day of joy. She knew better by now than to point out the things that she herself would like about getting married, she had learnt fairly early on that Georgiana did not seem to find the same enjoyment in being the centre of everybody's attention as she did. Darcys, she decided, were decidedly baffling people.   
  
Mrs. Darcy entered into Lydia’s bedchamber later that morning, just as Cason was putting the finishing touches to her hair.   
  
“Ah! Lydia dearest, you are nearly ready. I am so glad. Would you go to Georgiana’s room and assure her that she is in every way a radiant bride, please? Theodore has been wailing for me, I think my poor darling may be suffering from teething pain and I would take him with me, of course, but I do not think that it would aid his Aunt’s nerves.”   
  
Nodding, Lydia did so, and spent above a quarter of an hour attempting to cheer up the bride who seemed to vacillate wildly between feeling very well pleased for herself and happy to be getting married to feeling quite overwhelmed with guilt in leaving her brother’s house.   
  
By the time they had reached the church, Lydia was almost certain that she would have preferred to spent the time with Master Theodore for all the success she seemed to have in soothing her.   
  
After her duties as bridesmaid were done and the deed was done- mysteriously restoring both Georgiana and her brother back to cheer, Lydia took her seat in a pew and looked about her as the Bishop delegated the task of delivering a sermon to a vicar. Twisting her neck to the left, she spied Mr. Warwick looking as bored as she felt and almost felt disposed to smile at him. He caught her eye and pretended to look stern, gesturing with a wagging gloved finger that she ought to be facing the front and paying heed to what was being said. Tossing her head a little, she did so and did not give him the satisfaction of looking in his direction again, even if he had looked so very droll.   
  
He found her afterwards, as she stood on the steps of the church in lively conversation with the bishop and exchanged a few polite words with the splendidly robed man before the Right Reverend went to speak with the Countess of Warwick.   
  
“I like his dress,” said Mr. Warwick, eyeing up the back of the richly embroidered robe with disfavour, “I do hope it will not become the fashion though.”   
  
Miss Bennet could not repress a grin. “You ought to speak quieter, Mr. Warwick- if you insult a bishop they will likely speed along your execution when that day inevitably comes.” There was no heat in her words however and recognising this, the corner of his mouth curled up in a roguish grin.   
  
“I sent the bride a _darling_ little pistol in the good bishop's name, you know.” He said in a low, provocative voice to her and then watched with great pleasure as she stifled a snort and struggled to contain herself by biting her lip. Avoiding his eye, Lydia turned her attention to the wedding party and seeing the blushing Mrs. Kentmire being warmly congratulated by the officiant, she quite lost her composure and her giggles rang out as clearly as the peal of bells that were clanging loudly from above them.   
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three small notes and then I shall leave you to get on with reading. 
> 
> 1) I have a beta! The astonishingly efficient and eagle-eyed Wheelrider has heroically rescued you all from no less than 105 sloppy mistakes. I am going to challenge myself to get that number down by next chapter. Thank you, Wheelrider. :)
> 
> 2) It was brought to my attention that this series has been (very kindly!) reviewed on a JAFF recs blog. I had no idea that such a thing existed and was absolutely delighted to trawl through a number of very well written, clear reviews and to add a few to my 'to read' list when I have the time to enjoy it. If you like suggestions that are (as far as I could see) non spoilery but enough to gauge if a story would interest you...head over to Gioia Recs. Thank you, Gioia for such a generous review and thus bringing my attention to a good site. :)
> 
> 3) SORRY this is so late. We have had illness in the family and Mama is the person every poorly baby needs in the Peneaux residence. Right. Go have fun!

Mrs. Darcy, having expressed a mild interest to her husband some weeks beforehand, was one morning presented with tickets of admission to the Museum in which the Lord Elgin had elected to display the various artifacts that had been brought back from Greece. Elizabeth in return had gifted her husband with an admiring glance and an expressive smile.   
  
“How can you have accomplished such a thing so quickly, Fitzwilliam? I was entirely certain that I should have to drop gentle hints for several weeks more at the very least.”   
  
Lydia watched as Mr. Darcy rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder as he reached for her palm where it rested in her lap and kissed it lightly. He was by no means an expressive man, but Lizzy seemed able to coax him out of his dour habits merely by being so delighted with him.    
  
“On the contrary, Mrs. Darcy, I think you were very aware that I should arrange it as soon as I could once you casually raised the matter. Shall you like to go later today? I must spend an hour or so with Mr. Hart; Kentmire asked for my opinion on some land in Staffordshire, and I shall need to write a few letters.”   
  
It was decided, therefore, that the three of them should have an afternoon outing to that dullest of buildings, a museum. There was no question that Lydia might be left at home, or that she should be permitted to go off and enjoy some other form of amusement more suited to her. Fitzwilliam Darcy had not forgotten that both of his sisters under his protection had narrowly escaped disaster in the park, even if he was by now fairly sure that the situation had been an isolated one.    
  
He soon repressed such thoughts and enjoyed wandering the exhibits with his pretty wife on his arm. He even managed to reign in any irritation he may have felt at Lydia’s poorly disguised boredom.    
  
Lydia was not so disinterested as her brother-in-law supposed her to be; the friezes did not please her in the slightest, but the cunningly wrought statues, with the graceful folds of stone dresses, she thought were very fine. Such admiration of the long-dead mason’s skill did not absorb her interest for very long and in a short time she had separated herself a little from the Darcys and gone in search of further interest. 

She found it in the adjoining room, wherein she found further statues, and to her vague dismay, the Earl of Warwick and his wife. She was greeted very civilly by them.   
  
“Ho! It is Miss Bennet, my Lady. Have you come to admire my friend Lord Elgin’s acquisitions, madam?” began the Earl.    
  
Rising from her curtsey, Lydia replied in the negative. “I think the dresses are very cleverly done, my Lord, but I am here because my sister wished to come. Mrs. Darcy has always been fascinated by historical things.”   
  
“Excellent, is Darcy in the other room? I have been wanting a word with him, and I daresay you will be wishful to speak to his wife, Lady Warwick --come along. Miss Bennet, if you see my young scamp of a cousin lurking about, tell him we have not gone off and abandoned him, would you?”   
  
Lydia wondered if Mr. Warwick, with his practiced charm and decided air of town polish, would like to be described in such terms, and smiled at the Earl in agreement. She wandered the quiet room, occasionally reaching out to feel the cold smooth marble as she passed by. Her reticule hung from her gloved wrist, the perfect shade of green to match the ribbons on her hat. She felt the weight of her little gun as it occasionally knocked against her leg as she walked. A stray curl had sprung loose from her elegant coiffure and she lightly brushed it away from her cheek, careful not to crush Cason’s work.   
  
“‘See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand,   
That I might touch that cheek,”’ quoted Mr. Warwick in deep soulful tones as he emerged from behind a statue.    
  
He would doubtless have been pleased to learn that Lydia was hard-pressed not to turn to look at him, but resisted on the grounds that she could not quite decide whether she wished to smile or scowl in his direction.    
  
“So that is how you attained such a reputation with young ladies, Mr. Warwick. I could not account for it before, but I do admit that you spout nonsense very prettily.” She did not give him time to answer, but continued, “Lord Warwick wished me to direct the ‘young scamp’ to the other room if you were looking for him.”   
  
Mr. Warwick looked rueful and she nearly laughed. “There is nothing so lowering as one's relatives, I find. However dashing and debonair I think myself, my cousin can be relied upon to make me feel like a scrubby schoolboy in an instant.”   
  
Lydia smirked unsympathetically and then relented, “My father is the same. I had just put up my hair on my fifteenth birthday and was feeling quite the young lady, but he soon ended that notion.”   
  
“I cannot suppose that he called you a ‘young scamp’, Lydia!” exclaimed Mr. Warwick, leaning casually on a pedestal that displayed a  tarnished bronze helmet. Lydia thought it an ugly old thing.   
  
“No, a ‘silly miss’. I suppose it is the equivalent. I imagine he will think of me as such even when I am married with a half-dozen children in tow.”   
  
Mr. Warwick cocked his head, his light green eyes considering her.    
  
“What?” she said, irritated again.   
  
“I am trying to imagine it and failing. I cannot see you as anything other than how you are now.”    
  
Lydia softened at that, but said, “I cannot either, really, but I suppose the inevitable must come eventually. It is a pity; I cannot imagine having anything near so much fun when I am a proper grown up as I do now.”   
  
“Oh, I don’t see that--I should think you would like the liberty that being married will give you.”    
  
“Depends on the husband, I suppose,” she said, a little glumly--thinking of Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy. Her other brothers-in-law seemed to be a little more liberal.    
  
Mr. Warwick ceased to lounge against the pillar and blinked. “Ah yes, I was forgetting that. You can’t be still considering Sir Daniel? I was rather under the impression that he had fled.”   
  
An inkling of suspicion crept up the base of Lydia’s neck and into her brain. “Did you have something to with that?” she accused.   
  
“I, my pet? What influence do you suppose I have? If your fair charms aren’t enough to bring him up to the mark must it necessarily be my fault?”   
  
“My charms are quite sufficient, Mr. Warwick,” said Lydia with some tartness, “ _ if _ I am permitted to wield them without interference. I notice that you did not say ‘no’.”   
  
“Lydia my dear, I am wholly delighted to think that you would believe me if I had protested my innocence.” He grinned rakishly and Lydia bit her lip.   
  
“You haven’t any innocence to protest,” she responded, and was quite pleased with her own wit.    
  
He laughed. “That is true enough, but I think you are converting me a little more each time you see me. Imagine what a gift I shall be to society if you consented to see me every day ever after.”    
  
Lydia felt her face go hot and swallowed, turning to look at the same dull group of statues she had been pretending to comprehend for the past five minutes. A horse’s head, a seated pair of women, their hands elegantly raised, and a standing female beside them, her dress billowing in the wind.   
  
“Do you know who they are?” she asked, not from any particular interest but in a bid to change the subject.    
  
He looked at the figures. “Elgin supposes them to be Demeter and Persephone, but I should think it’s anyone’s guess given it is difficult to identify headless people.” Seeing she looked blankly at him, he knit his brow. “I had a tedious professor at Cambridge who was very thorough in our lessons. Demeter is the mother and Persephone the daughter...legend has it that she was abducted by her uncle who wanted to take her to wife in the Underworld.”   
  
Lydia stared at him pointedly and he swallowed.    
  
“It is hardly the same!”    
  
A window in the room had been left open and a breeze wafted in, rippling the ribbons of her bonnet. Still she stared at him until he could not meet her gaze. Something like shame crept into his eyes when she said, with far more seriousness than was her usual wont, “Mr. Warwick, it is  _ exactly _ the same.”    
  
Mr. Warwick looked blindly at the seated statues and twisted the gloves he carried in his hand before turning his face back to her.    
  
Cold, marble-like silence descended between them, and somehow, Lydia knew that it must not be broken just yet.   
  
“You make me seem a beastly fellow, Miss Bennet,” he said at length, somberly. “No, that is not right, you don’t. You have merely pointed out what is already there, have you not? Honest Lydia, brave and unflinching! Does nothing frighten you? No, never mind that. You have found me out and you are quite right. I behaved very badly and I am sorry for it. Mrs. Kentmire...I rather thought that her brother would force the issue out of propriety and so I would not need to. It amounts to the same thing, does it not? Or at least it would have done for her.”   
  
Having finished his incoherent speech, he stepped nearer to her but did not reach out his hand. When he spoke next, he spoke quietly and with every semblance of sincerity.    
  
“You do not trust me; I am not such a conceited fool as to not see it. I would have you know, Lydia, that I mean what I say at present. I do think that I might become...that I am already becoming a better man for love of you. Think on that before you accept some dowdy bore to live beside everyday and before you assign me a lifetime of madness brought on by jealousy.”   
  
There was something about his expression as he spoke that made Lydia feel both pity and triumph over him in the self-same moment. She knew what do do with a man she had conquered, that was easy enough...but when coupled with compassion rather than contempt...that demanded rather more thought. What was she to do with a man who was remorseful? Her breath hitched and she was utterly at a loss for words, just like the silly little miss her father supposed her to be.    
  
She nodded once and the moment was gone.    
  
“Let us talk of something else now, Mr. Warwick,” she begged, “my head is all a whirl.”   
  
He bowed a little and smoothly changed the subject. “Have you frightened any of your sister’s servants by aiming that pretty little gun at them yet, my pet?” he asked softly, offering her his arm.    
  
She accepted it without giving the matter much thought; perhaps she was beginning to trust him more than she had previously supposed. Imagining Cason shrieking at the sight of a loaded gun made her lips quiver with amusement.    
  
“Not yet, although if my maid tries to offer me a chinese blue stole to wear with an emerald green dress again, I shan’t be responsible for my actions.”   
  
He laughed and they viewed the eastern palladium statues from a little distance away. Lydia remarked that she should have been more impressed if the horse had been complete, not that she had any interest in them.   
  
“By the by, Mr. Warwick, since you have made me a present of it, I should like to know how to unload a pistol. I managed to load the thing well enough with the little tamper and some gunpowder--it is very hard to buy gunpowder if you are a single young lady, you know--shopkeepers ask the nosiest questions--but I cannot seem to work out the mechanics of emptying the thing...why, what is the matter?”   
  
Mr. Warwick had glanced down at the little silken reticule that rested between them and sprang away from her with great alarm.    
  
“Do you mean to tell me, Lydia, that the thing is  _ loaded _ ?” he asked, greatly agitated.    
  
“Well, what would be the point of having one if I cannot shoot someone with it?” she said reasonably, not understanding in the least why he should be looking at her so.    
  
“The  _ point _ ? Lydia, It could kill either of us at any moment if you knocked the trigger!”   
  
“Could it? Oh,” she said, digesting this information and then infuriating the young man with her by shrugging, “Well, it hasn’t done so far, so it may not be worth worrying over.”   
  
“Give it to me,” he demanded, apparently unaware that Lydia did not respond well to such tones.   
  
“I shall not. It is mine and I want to keep it.”    
  
He seized her reticle and tried to undo the string. She grasped it back and pulled.    
  
“No! Don’t do that, you’ll set the thing off. I shall hand it back to you the very next time I see you, only let me take it away and discharge it and I will...”

Having broken the string tying the reticule at the top, he fished the little gun out and held it aloft. Lydia, beginning to feel very angry, for she did not at all like to give up her things, stood on her tiptoes and reached for the pistol.    
  
It went off with a very loud retort in the direction of the statues that were now behind them. The arms of one of the seated female figures cracked and fell to the ground with an echoing clatter.   
  
The two of them looked at each other in dismay until Lydia broke their shocked speechlessness by giggling, and Mr. Warwick, his eyes alight with tender amusement, choked out:    
  
“Lydia,  _ you _ …”   
  
He did not have time to complete his thought because there was a shout and the museum officials came running, with Mr. Darcy and the Earl of Warwick in hot pursuit.    
  
“We heard gunfire!” gasped a plump, balding little man with a badly tied cravat.    
  
Lydia, no longer laughing, looked to Mr. Warwick for rescue.    
  
“Yes, that was me…” he said, “a little foreign fellow came in through that open window there and--not realising we were here--attempted to make off with some of the delightful treasures here. I very politely asked him what he was about and he waved a gun at me. Fortunately, since Miss Bennet and Mrs. Kentmire’s having been frigh...annoyed in the park, I have gone about armed and opened fire...he ran off shouting in Greek, I think it was. Possibly French, I cannot say. I am only sorry that the shot went wide, but Miss Bennet was upset and clutched at my arm at quite the wrong moment, I fear. Ah...yes, I see that the arms have quite come off that lady, I am sorry for it.”   
  
The curator of the museum rushed to the window and looked out; the courtyard was deserted. Mr. Darcy looked at Lydia, frowning.    
  
“Miss Bennet? Can you corroborate this extraordinary story?”    
  
Lydia, having no idea what that meant, nodded vigorously and clutched her reticule. She was not at all concerned with the immorality of this man being such a smooth liar, but was instead quite immensely relieved that he had covered things up so tidily.    
  
“Can you describe him?”   
  
“Describe him?” she repeated, blankly.   
  
“Yes,” said Mr. Darcy with great patience, “the foreign fellow who ran off, can you tell me what he looked like?”   
  
“Ah...yes. Well, no.” She stuttered a little, “It happened so quickly you see and I hardly...I suppose he looked just like anyone really.”   
  
Elizabeth, looking very pale and very ill, came near then and put her arms about her. Her fingers were shaking badly and Lydia felt wretchedly guilty. What had seemed a fine lark only a few moments ago was not so very amusing now. She looked anxiously up at Mr. Warwick and met his eyes. His expression warmed when she did so and she felt a little better. Only hold your nerve, his eyes seemed to say, and we will carry this off, together.

  
Mr. Darcy looked as though he was far from satisfied, but the balding man came back from the window and said, “Courtyard’s deserted. I don’t suppose anyone would have seen the man get away--all the rooms with facing windows have been shut up for the present. Shouldn’t at all surprise me if it was a French spy.” He shook his head over the matter. “You are to be thanked, Mr. Warwick, for frightening him off as you did. Awful cowards these Frenchies, I believe...why, when I think what might have happened...Lord Elgin would have been distraught at such artifacts having been removed from their rightful places.”   
  
Mr. Warwick modestly disclaimed in such humble tones that Lydia wanted to laugh madly. Elizabeth swayed on her feet while holding her sister’s hand with white fingers.   
  
Mr. Warwick, seeing she was about to faint, caught her before she could fall and called out.   
  
“Mr. Darcy, sir! I do think your wife is not quite feeling well.”  
  
Mr. Darcy, his attention now quite diverted from the unlikelihood of Mr. Warwick’s story, came forward with haste and took Mrs. Darcy into his arms.   
  
“My Lord Warwick, might I trouble you to find a servant to call our carriage? I should like to take the ladies home. Mr. Warwick, thank you for your quick action, Mrs. Darcy is...well, let us say that a fall might have been disastrous to her health at present. Lady Warwick, have you any smelling salts? Thank you, madam. Let us go to that little chair away from the draft in the corner.”  
  
Thus he carried his wife over and spoke in low tones trying to rouse her from her unconscious state. She came to and shook her head quickly to clear it.   
  
“Oh, did I faint? I cannot at all see how I came to do so...I am dreadfully sorry for alarming you my dear.”   
  
Mr. Darcy dismissed this. “There is no need for apologies, only sit still for a while and I shall have you home soon. The carriage has been sent for.”   
  
Elizabeth smiled, if a little weakly. “Yes, that is well. I shall do that. Might I have a drink, do you suppose? I am very thirsty.”  
  
Lydia stepped forward, “I will go and fetch one for you, Lizzy.”  
  
Mr. Darcy shook his head, “No, Miss Bennet, I should like you to remain where I can see you, please. That is the second time in quite a short period that you have been subjected to guns and an unpleasant shock--the man responsible might be anywhere about. I am sure this gentleman here,” with a nod in the direction of the curator, “can find something for your sister to drink.”  
  
Eager to please and quite relieved that the precious marbles had not been stolen on his watch, the man nodded and scurried off.   
  
Lydia met Mr. Warwick’s eyes again, and once again felt an urge to laugh. What a pity it was that she couldn’t share with anyone but him why her brother’s words had made her wish to giggle.   
  
When Lord Warwick came back in, bringing word that the Darcy carriage had pulled up, Mr. Darcy lifted his wife up and was followed by a small entourage of people out into the bright sunshine.   
  
Mr. Warwick offered his arm once again to Lydia. They followed on together, at a steady pace.   
  
Before they descended the steps, Mr. Warwick’s hand came up and covered hers. “Lydia, can you not see how _like_ we are to each other? We are kin. There is no other woman in England that would have giggled at precisely that moment, and...Lydia, no, don’t go just yet. I will only be a moment. Can you not see...surely, _surely_ you cannot contemplate marriage to anyone else but me. I shan’t stop, Lydia. I _cannot_ stop trying to persuade you that it would be a waste to marry anyone but me. I know I have done wrong. There is no other man who can appreciate the whole of you like I do... _wonderful_ Lydia. Yes, I see that you must go. I will call tomorrow. Think on it, will you? Think on it.”  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who are still reading and thank you also to anyone who left comments, kudos or bookmarked. 
> 
> Thank you Wheelrider, for making this ten times more readable than it actually is (under 80 corrections this time...yeah!)
> 
> It isn't the most cheerful chapter I have ever written but was necessary. Chapter 9 has been written and gets marginally less depressing by the end. Sorry. 
> 
> I still hope to get us all to a HEA!

****

Lydia, having spent the night tossing and turning and getting very little rest, arrived at breakfast late that next morning. Mr. Darcy, however, appeared to be in an unusually mellow mood and elected not to send his flighty young sister a steely glance. Lydia, having piled as much on her plate as she could politely carry off without remark being passed, went to sit near her sister at the foot of the table and asked her how she was feeling.   
  
“Hmm? Oh yes, of course,” said Lizzy, absently, “Yes, thank you dearest, I am very well this morning.”    
  
Lydia looked at her in the morning light and raised her eyebrows. Mrs. Darcy may have been pale and trembling yesterday, before she fainted at the museum, but was now the very picture of glowing good health. Elizabeth was smiling a good deal and would not divulge the cause of her good mood.    
  
Quickly growing tired of her sister’s determination to be a mystery, Lydia was relieved when, having finished her raspberry conserve and bread, a servant came in bearing a silver platter and presented it to Mr. Darcy.    
  
He reached for it just as Elizabeth was elaborating upon her plans for the day.    
  
“I must write to Mrs. Reynolds this morning, dearest, but after we have eaten our noonday meal, I thought that we might take Theodore out to the park. He does so love the ducks and I thought that...Fitzwilliam?”    
  
Mr. Darcy had neatly broken the seal of his paper and was reading it with a troubled brow. Lydia supposed that Elizabeth must have some secret way of distinguishing it from his usual expressions, seeing as whatever she saw there had caused her sufficient concern to break off speaking so abruptly.    
  
Mr. Darcy looked at his wife and hesitated before addressing the servants who waited on them at breakfast.    
  
“Thank you, you may go.” In the time that the servants had moved in stately fashion across the room and closed the door behind them, Mr. Darcy had scanned the note again and gravely set it down beside him.   
  
“I have received an express from Longbourn, Elizabeth...from your mother.”   


Elizabeth, grasping instantly what was to come, sat very still and watched her husband with baited breath, waiting for the axe to fall.    
  
A little behind her sister in speed, Lydia wondered aloud what her Mama could have to say that would be so urgent as to need to be sent by express.    
  
“It seems that the housekeeper found your father in his book room when she went in to lay the fire this morning, and being unable to rouse him, raised the alarm. I am afraid he could not be wakened. I am sorry.”   


Elizabeth swallowed slowly and stiffly rose from her chair. She stared blankly ahead of her, clearly greatly shocked.    
  
Lydia, not quite believing her own ears, voiced her question.    
  
“Does that mean that Papa is  _ dead _ ?”    
  
Mr. Darcy, who had been carefully watching Elizabeth as she rounded the table toward him, took his eyes off his wife at this point and nodded to his sister-in-law.    
  
His voice was gentle when he replied, “Yes, I am afraid it does, Lydia.” With that, Lizzy reached his side and made an agitated gesture and a half-sob caught in her throat. Her husband rose instantly from his chair and folded her in his arms.    
  
Whatever it was that he whispered tenderly into her hair broke the dam within her and the choked sob became a keening wail that was terrible to Lydia’s ears. She herself remained seated at the table, unable to move and trying to process the information--wondering what was wrong with her that she was not distraught, as her sister was.    
  
She waited. For some long minutes the room was filled with Lizzy’s cries, and then at last she spoke. “Tell me what to do, brother,” she said, in a small voice. “I am sure I ought to do something but I cannot think what.”    
  
He was stroking Elizabeth’s hair and regarded Lydia from over her head.    
  
“I understand,” he said, raising his voice a little so as to be heard over Elizabeth’s weeping. “It took me three days together to comprehend that my mother had passed away and I threw myself into any occupation I could find.”   
  
“Give me something to do,  _ please,” _ Lydia begged, fixated, for the first time in her life, upon doing something that might  _ usefully _ distract her.    
  
Mr. Darcy drew in a deep, steady breath. “I must take Elizabeth upstairs. Will you see the housekeeper and give orders for the knocker to be taken off the door? We have but an hour before callers might come. If black crepe can be found, that ought to be put up, too. Tell your maid to pack all your things; we must leave for Longbourn as soon as we are ready. If you are able, a note to your sister, Mrs. Bingley, may be helpful; Bingley informed me last week that they were not removing to Netherfield for above a month, and Mrs. Bennet may not have sent word to them. We must make ready to leave. I do not wish your mother to be left alone without family any longer than is necessary.”    
  
Relieved beyond measure to be given such a list, Lydia attempted to smile in gratitude. The effort of upturning her lips felt stiff and foreign to her face.   
  
“She will have Lady Lucas nearby, and my aunt Phillips will come, no doubt.  _ Thank you _ .”    
  
With that, she pushed away the plate of food that she had been so hungry for but moments ago, and with steady steps went to the doors that led into the airy hallway.    
  
When Mr. Darcy led his wife out five minutes later, her face buried in his shoulder, he saw Lydia sensibly and concisely giving orders to Mrs. Priddy as though she had been doing so all her life.    
  
“...and I should think Mr. Darcy’s valet and Mrs. Darcy’s maid ought to be informed also, they will need to pack, Oh! And Master Darcy’s nurse, too. Have someone bring the trunks and portmanteaus up to the family rooms. Tell the footmen that no callers may be admitted unless they are direct family. I shall need a boy to take a note over to Mrs. Bingley in a half-hour or so, do send my maid up to me will you, please. Thank you, that will be all.”    
  
With that, she turned and ascended the stairs.    
  
“That was well done of you, Lydia.” said Mr. Darcy quietly, the faintest inflexion of surprised respect in his voice.   
  
“ _ Black _ ,” replied Lydia, already thinking of the next task to be done, “I do so detest black.”   
  
Nevertheless, when her maid had scurried up to her dressing room, she found that Miss Bennet had arrayed most of her clothes on the bed and was promptly handed three dresses that must be dyed black or altered with black crepe.    
  
“All of these other dresses will need to be packed away, Cason, but that may be done after we have left. I shall wear my grey coat and bonnet for the journey, which will suffice if an armband can be sewn on in time. Those three dresses in your arms must be placed near the top of my trunk so that Hill can dye them when we return home. Send a man out to Hatchard’s for crepe and material for armbands--we must have sufficient to go on the door in a wreath. I daresay the housekeeper will oversee that.”    
  
With that, she sent the maid off to do her bidding and was alone in the room.    
  
Crossing over to the drawer beside her bed and opening the little box in which her pistol had been kept, Lydia took out the string of pearls that lay at the bottom, gleaming milky white upon the red velvet lining of the box. She wound them about her hand and brought them up to her cheek, and thought of her sister, held so tightly in Mr. Darcy’s embrace. The pearls felt cool against her skin. A moment later, and they had been deposited in her pocket, well out of sight. Lydia seated herself at the seldom-used little desk to write a note to Mrs. Bingley. How did one write such news as she had to tell? She thought, with some little pity, of Mr. Darcy and how he had related it simply--without any fuss or flowery words--and directly began to write.    
  
_ Dearest Jane,  _ __   
__   
_   We must all travel to Hertfordshire as soon as may be, even now the household is making ready. We heard by express only this morning that Papa is dead and Mr. Darcy says he does not wish to leave Mama without family to comfort her. I do not know any of the details save that Hill found him in his book room and could not wake him. _ __   
__   
_ Elizabeth is quite distraught and would doubtless be glad of you to bear her company. No doubt we will see you in Hertfordshire soon. _ __   
__   
_ Lydia. _ __   
  
With remarkable efficiency, all was made ready within a few hours, and thus the largest of the Darcy carriages pulled away from the town house but an hour or so after luncheon, arriving at Longbourn just as daylight was beginning to fade, sending streaks of vibrant colour across the shadowed skies above Oakham Mount.    
  
Mrs. Phillips came out to greet them, for, as Lydia had predicted, Mrs. Bennet was laid out upon her bed, having been given a draught by the apothecary to calm her hysterical sobbing some hours ago.    
  
“Oh! Dear Mrs. Darcy, I told your Mama that Mr. Darcy should likely bring you today or tomorrow, as soon as could be done. Lydia! How grown up you look, I should hardly have known you at all, save that I knew you must be coming. Is this dear Master Theodore? How sweet he is! Oh, you must not be shy of me you know, I am your Great-Aunt Phillips and I have known your Mama since she came out screaming from your Grandmama and would only settle for her Papa.”    
  
Even Lydia was impressed by the silliness of such a speech. Seeing Lizzy’s face crumple, and Mr. Darcy having retreated to icy hauteur, she interrupted before her aunt could rattle on any more.   
  
“Yes Aunt, but is it true? Is Papa  _ indeed _ gone? We had no details at all, save that Hill could not wake him.”   
  
“Yes child, it is quite true, I fear. Poor Fanny, she has been quite undone you know, I could not persuade her to take anything at all to calm her until after Lady Lucas had left. She is asleep upstairs now--Mr. Bennet has been laid out in the music room, the back of the house is not so warm, you see, and I thought it might prevent any...”    
  
Seeing that the well-meaning lady was unlikely to cease her tactless babbling without being interrupted, Mr. Darcy cooly suggested that they all go inside.    
  
“For the evening is growing colder and I do not wish my wife and son to take ill.”   
  
Mrs. Phillips was a simple woman and easily overawed by such an air of command. She curtseyed slightly and incoherently remarked on such husbandly thoughtfulness. If Mr. Darcy thought her ridiculous, he refrained from saying so, only turned to Lydia and with solicitude urged her, too, to step inside.    
  
“Come in, Miss Bennet, I should not like you to become ill, either.”   
  
Feeling quite unlike herself, Lydia found herself feeling far fonder of her sister’s husband than she ever had before. There was something very nice about being taken care of so well; she could not recollect that Papa had ever concerned himself with such minor details as how long she was kept standing in the cold.   
  
This thought, coupled with crossing over the threshold of  _ home, _ caused a hard lump to rise in her throat and her eyes prickled with tears.    
  
Why now? Of all times, why only  _ now _ did she wish to cry? There was still too much to be done. She unbuttoned her coat and handed it to Hill, who welcomed them back to Longbourn with a curtsey and condolences. Lydia thrust her hand into her pocket and wound her pearls about her fingers while Mr. Darcy tenderly assisted his wife and son.    
  
Elizabeth had barely spoken for the entire journey, save to speak of necessities as concerned Theodore, who had contentedly sat on his Mama’s lap. It was evident that she was deeply affected and that grief had its hard grip upon her.    
  
Taking her hand out of her pocket with renewed strength, Lydia instructed Hill to set up a large pot of black dye, first thing in the morning.    
  
“For we must have something to wear until mourning clothes can be made. I shall come up and pick out a half a dozen dresses for Mrs. Bennet. She may not need them immediately though, doubtless she will keep to her bed for a while. No, I don’t need to go into the music room, thank you. I will go upstairs. Are you staying the night, Aunt? It may be best if you would stay with Mama. Where shall we put Theodore and his nurse, Hill?”   
  
Mrs. Hill, taking Miss Bennet’s charge of the household arrangements in her stride, gave a slight bob and suggested that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy might prefer Mrs. Bingley’s old room and that Miss Bennet might go in Mrs. Darcy’s room, thus leaving space for Master Darcy and his nurse to go in the room that she herself had once shared with Mrs. Osmond-Price.    
  
“Oh yes, Kitty! Do you know if anyone has written to Fletchley Grange, Hill? It will need to be done, but that may wait until tomorrow, there is little point in doing it tonight. Yes, I should think those arrangements will suit. Mary will need to be written to also, I suppose.”   
  
Here Mr. Darcy, smiling slightly at her natural air of command, offered up his own services in that regard.    
  
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy--I dislike letter writing immensely, I suppose I inherited that from P...well, never mind. Will the room arrangements suit you, Lizzy? We had best eat, too, we haven’t all day.”    
  
“Harding will carry up a tray to Mrs. Darcy in her room,” said Mr. Darcy firmly, when Lizzy disclaimed any feeling of hunger. “We are all quite tired so I see no need for us all to dine formally. The rooms suggested sound perfectly adequate. When the Bingleys arrive we might remove to Netherfield; doubtless the Collinses will arrive within a day or so of receiving a note.”   
  
Lydia nodded, glad that he was able to think of such practical things. It was comforting to know that with Lizzy so affected and her Mama lying above stairs in a drugged sleep, they had his quiet strength to help them through it. He may not be amusing or flamboyant in the way that she liked in Mr. War...in the way that she liked a young man to be, but there was no denying that he was reliable and steady. Such a person was needed sometimes. Perhaps Lizzy’s choice was not so incomprehensible after all.   
  
She reached once again into her pocket. “Right then, Hill, give orders to cook that we shall all have trays in our rooms, something simple will suffice; you will not mind that, Aunt? Good. I shall find some dresses for Mama and then go to bed myself. Goodnight, sister,” she said, kissing Lizzy fondly, and smoothing a hand over her nephew’s hair, she hesitated briefly before standing on her tiptoes to lightly kiss the intimidating Mr. Darcy on the cheek. He caught her eye and smiled, not at all displeased. “Goodnight, brother.”   
  
She climbed into her bed an hour and a half later, having found numerous other little things to arrange with the servants and orders to give regarding arm bands and black crepe. Mrs. Hill reminded her that the funeral biscuits ought to be made as soon as may be so that they could be sent out once the funeral date was known. Lydia had gone below stairs and asked cook to start them, immediately after breakfast was finished in the morning.    
  
She had to undress herself, for Cason had been left in London--there being no real need for her at Longbourn--and found herself lonely that evening for perhaps the first time in her life. Lydia thought, dolefully, as she tied on her nightcap, that everyone else in the household had someone with them to bear them up. Lizzy had Mr. Darcy, Mama had Aunt Phillips, Theodore did not precisely count but he had his nurse, and even Papa, who did not need it in the least, was being borne company by the faithful old butler this night, who had offered to keep a vigil. It was only Lydia Bennet, who had never felt the want of company ever before, that was left entirely alone.    
  
Having climbed into her bed and blown out the candle, she slid out of it again and crossed to the chest of drawers. Longbourn was cold at night, even in the summer months. She fumbled in the darkness for a pair of thick stockings and slid them on.    
  
She could not lie to herself for long: she did not  __ really want the warmth, she wanted the strand of pearls that she had hidden in the drawer and, not caring to examine the reason too closely, brought them back to bed with her.   
  
Lydia lay awake playing with them, winding them about her fingers and sliding them through. She thought of Mr. Warwick at length then, for the first time that day.

What must he have thought when arriving at Darcy House that day, finding the knocker taken off and black crepe hung in a wreath at the door?   
  
Had he been mounting the steps, she wondered, as she had been hurrying about and making ready to leave? What was  _ wrong _ with her? He was a grown man, after all, and certainly she did not need to be lying awake worrying that  _ he _ might be worrying, too.    
  
As she began to drift off to sleep, she spared a thought for her father and heaved a shuddering sigh. Her face was wet now and she was not quite sure which man she had  _ begun _ to weep for, but now was certain that she cried for her Papa.    
  
He may have thought her a silly creature, and she knew that she was not his favourite as Lizzy was, but she would miss his presence sorely. He had sat quietly in his place at the table for nearly every meal at home since she had left the nursery, and if she suspected that his occasional wry smiles were not always quite kind, well, they had never been  _ unkind,  _ either.    
  
For Lydia,  _ home _ meant Longbourn and Longbourn meant Father and Mother and all of her sisters. Gradually, the sisters had left one by one and only Papa and Mama had remained, but somehow Longbourn had remained home. She supposed that Mr. Collins would inherit now and that she and Mama should have to live elsewhere once the six months of deep mourning had passed.    
  
She would not think about that tonight though, for  _ now, _ all that needed to be done was to sleep. Everything else might wait until morning.   
  
Her pearls lay clutched in her fist and she was sure that if she did not release them soon, her hand would bear the imprints of them--yet she did not move to put them down.    
  
Her last thoughts before sleep overtook her were of two pairs of eyes, one of them pale green and alight with tender laughter, the other grey and hooded with wrinkled lids that were now sewn closed. 

They would not open again.   
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter this week to get us over the sadder parts a little quicker. 
> 
> Wheelrider is a genius of the first order, knowing how to sort out my punctuation! (130 corrections! welp~ must do better!) Wheelrider also knows how to use these mysterious things. ;;;; I think I will go find a website to educate me. :) 
> 
> Settle down, it is a longish one.

The next few weeks passed by in a blur of boredom and loneliness for Lydia. Mr. Bennet was buried within the space of a week and the Collinses had returned to Hunsford Parsonage until the next month to arrange all of their affairs there.    
  
The Darcys had, for the space of a month, relocated to Netherfield once the Bingleys had come, and it was not long before the only people left at Longbourn were Lydia and her mother.   
  
Mrs. Bennet had been a great deal shocked by her husband's sudden death; the doctor had told them, in the  _ vaguest _ possible way, that he could only suppose that his heart had given out and that they should be grateful that he had neither lingered nor felt any pain. Mrs. Bennet, once the men had returned from the churchyard, had risen from her bed, dressed from head to toe in sober black, and received the condolences of the entire neighborhood with sufficient dignity. Then, having done so, she had retired to her rooms again.   
  
At first Lydia had not minded this so much, although she was fond of her mother. In the past she had been very glad of the additional license that was given her on account of being a favourite, but, as each evening closed with her sadly eating alone and quite worn out from the day-to-day running of the household, she found that she should have been glad of anybody’s company,  _ even _ if the resultant conversation was as tearful as Mrs. Bennet’s had been when that lady had joined her for the space of ten minutes. She was even robbed of Kitty’s comfort during the ordeal; the Osmond-Prices wrote in reply to Mr. Darcy’s letter that although they were deeply sorry and grieved at the news, Kitty’s delicate condition meant that she could not currently travel such a great distance alone and that, it being so far, Mr. Osmond-Price was unlikely to be able to make it in time to attend the burial. It was disappointing of course, Lydia thought, that she would not see her closest sister, but how  _ odd _ to think of Kitty becoming a Mama. She was only two years ahead of her and she could hardly imagine it.   
  
She rode over to Netherfield one morning, on old Nelly, after she had received an awkward letter from Mary regarding the arrangements for the house.   
  
Mrs. Bingley greeted her kindly, for all that good lady was deeply grieved by her father’s passing.    
  
“Good morning, Lydia. How lovely it is to see you.”   
  
Lydia kissed her sister’s cheek and embraced her swiftly. “Jane, I have had a letter from Mary and I am come for yours and Lizzy’s advice on what I ought to do, she wants to...Oh good morning, Lizzy…”   
  
Elizabeth kissed her sister. Gradually, under her husband’s tender care and her son’s need of his mama, she was emerging from the fog of grief that had so afflicted her. It was not quite fair, thought Lydia, that she should look so elegant in mourning clothes; even the black lace cap that was pinned to her hair did not look so haggish as it did on the rest of the married women. She herself had barely been able to face her reflection in the mirror of a morning recently.    
  
“What is the difficulty, dearest? Have you left Mama alone or does our aunt sit with her this morning?”    
  
“Yes, Aunt Phillips has come--don’t worry over that. Mary has written that it would be better if Mama vacated her rooms before she arrives, because it will be  _ easier _ for her that way. She seemed to indicate that Lady Catherine had advised as much. Is it not very soon, Lizzy? I know of course that Mr. Collins has inherited now, but I do not think Mama will precisely understand...she has not come downstairs above twice since Papa was buried.”   
  
Elizabeth sighed. “We had all better come over to Longbourn to persuade Mama that it is the best course of action. There may be some way of hinting to her so that it is she that suggests it. Shall we go tomorrow, dearest?” This said to Jane, “Perhaps if I bring Theodore it will entice her out.”   
  
“Poor Mama!” said Mrs. Bingley sweetly, “and poor Mary too, they will neither of them adjust very easily, I shouldn’t think. I cannot think of any other solution, though; I cannot see that she would wish to leave her home permanently, for all that dear Charles and Mr. Darcy have offered her a house in Meryton.”   
  
A gleam stole into Elizabeth’s eyes, and she looked thoughtful. “I wonder if I might have thought of a Very Clever Idea, sisters. No! Do not ask me,” she said, with a fair imitation of some of her old liveliness, “I shall see if I may write a letter and bring it about first. It may be just the thing. When are the Collinses to arrive, Lydia?”

Mystified, Lydia replied that they were not to come for another ten days at the very least, and Elizabeth nodded, satisfied. “We shall not say a word to Mama for now, then; let her enjoy her rooms undisturbed. If I cannot manage things to my satisfaction, I shall come myself and persuade her to give place to Mary.”   
  
Lydia spent a few hours at Netherfield, enjoying her sisters’ company; for all that they were more subdued than they had been in the past, well, so too was she, and it was good to be with them.   
  
Mr. Darcy encountered his sister-in-law in the hall as she was putting on her gloves and stopped to have a quiet word with her.    
  
“Good morning, Lydia--are you riding back to Longbourn alone?”   
  
“Yes, for I had to leave the male servants behind. Mama was anxious, you see, that she should not be left unprotected.”   
  
Mr. Darcy frowned and Lydia, out of habit, looked away and pretended to study the stained glass in the hallway window. It was fairly pretty, with the sun shining through it and casting coloured patches of light onto the polished floor.    
  
“I shall send Carter home with you then,” he said shortly. “Have you been enjoying a visit with your sisters?”   
  
“Yes...I was asking how I ought to manage Mama and Mary when they come...I do think Lizzy may be plotting something, Mr. Darcy.” she warned him, kindly.   
  
His eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the corners and he nodded. “I am pleased to hear it. She took the news of your Father quite hard. I have been concerned, and at quite a loss as to what to do for her, but if she is back to managing people again, I daresay she will eventually mend.”   
  
“Mr. Darcy,” said Lydia impulsively, “have you heard any news from our friends in Town?”   
  
“Only from the Kentmires,” he said slowly, watching her carefully. “I believe Georgiana has been writing to you; doubtless you will receive her letter soon.”   
  
“Oh,” said Lydia, disappointed. “Well, I shall be glad to hear from her, it...it is so very dull at Longbourn, you know.”   
  
Mr. Darcy nodded, seeming to understand what it was she meant. “I will send a man to fetch Carter,” was all he said.    
  
Three days after that, Lydia received a letter from Mrs. Kentmire, which she read as she sat at breakfast. Her Mama had attempted to get up that day, but having walked into the breakfast room and seen Mr. Bennet’s empty chair, had immediately turned around again and been taken back up by Hill, weeping.    
  
Lydia sipped at her tea and spread open the thick paper before her.    
  
_ Dear Miss Bennet,  _ __  
__  
_   I was very sorry to hear of your Father having passed away so suddenly. I remember very clearly how difficult it was when my own Papa died; I was younger then, of course, but some things do not leave you. I shall not dwell on such things, as I do not know that you would wish me to; but I would have you know that the grief you feel now becomes gradually easier to bear over time and happiness will one day come again.  _ __  
__  
_ My primary reason for writing to you, aside from wishing to offer you my sincerest of condolences, was to tell you of a strange letter I received last week. I cannot yet tell if I found it excessively alarming or comforting, but I shall relate it to you regardless, particularly as the reason for the note concerns you.  _ __  
__  
_ Mr. Kentmire and I returned from our honeymoon on Tuesday morning. We did not go out into society at all until Thursday evening when we attended a musical evening at Mrs. Colchester’s home, but when we returned from there, an anonymous note had been delivered by a link boy, addressed to me. I have copied it out, word for word, below, because I do think you ought to be aware of it. If it can be trusted then I would not have you uneasy any longer than is necessary.  _ __  
__  
_ I do hope that you might consent to visit us, once we have moved into the house that Mr. Kentmire is going to build. For now, we remain in London, but I do so long to return north again and settle in.  _ __  
__  
_ Yours,  _ __  
__  
_ Georgiana Kentmire. _ __  
__  
  
Immensely curious, Lydia reached for the second sheet of paper that had been enclosed and read:   
  
_ Dear Madam,  _ __  
__  
_ I have for some time now been the victim of a guilty conscience regarding yourself and the other young lady who were set upon in the park some weeks ago. I wish for you to now be made aware that you need not fear a recurrence of such an event. Suffice it to say that you were the victim of an error of judgement and as such may go about your life hereafter with every reassurance of your safety.  _ __  
__  
_ I deeply regret, Madam, any unhappiness that you have experienced at my hand.  _ __  
  
  
Lydia looked at the note for some time, reading it over thrice before folding it carefully and putting it beside her plate. The clock chimed the hour and Hill entered the breakfast room.    
  
“I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet, I had thought you might be finished. Mrs. Bennet has lain down in her room again.”   
  
Lydia thrust away her half-eaten roll.    
  
“Yes, I am quite finished, Hill. I will go up and sit with Mama when she has her tea. I think I may go for a walk, only so far as the church. Send a servant for me if anyone calls and I am wanted.”    
  
Lydia did not walk for her enjoyment as a general rule. In her youth, she had walked into Meryton with Kitty often, but that walking had been done with purpose. How long ago those days seemed! When a mile or so of quiet road passed by with little effort because the pair of them were so full of laughter and high spirits--or more often petty squabbles--that they did not notice the distance.   
  
Lydia wandered into the churchyard. A black bird looked at her quizzically as she closed the gate behind her and she looked about her for her father’s grave.    
  
No headstone had been put in yet, but it was the only plot that was freshly dug, and flowers had been laid there. 

Lydia stood silently, staring down at the red clay soil. She was not so silly as to suppose that her father would have advised her; far more likely he would have waved her away and told her to take such girlish troubles to her Mama.   
  
“Except, I cannot do that, Papa,” she whispered, bitterly, feeling a surge of hot anger at him for having disrupted her life so completely. “Mama has barely spoken three sentences together to me since I have returned and my sisters are all married and I have _no one_. I wonder if I am a fool, Papa, for believing him--why else would he write a note that he did not _need_ to? If he did not mean it, he might have gone his whole life and not written a single word of comfort. No, I am sure that I believe him. I know him, Papa. He may be a loose cannon, and awfully sure of himself, and he may be the smoothest liar I have ever encountered, but he is strangely honest for all that.”   
  
She leant down to rearrange to her satisfaction the white roses that someone else had left. Lydia could not fathom why someone would have left them not looking as pretty as possible, but she often did not understand other people.   
  
“Mr. Collins and Mary are to come soon, I am sure you would find my predicament ever so amusing if you were alive, but I cannot at all think how to get Mama out of her rooms--Lizzy has said she will manage it, but I cannot see how she will do any such thing. How could you have done something so odiously _selfish_ as dying, father? If you had just waited another month...Oh! I don’t know, perhaps I would have known better what to do.”  
  
Glumly, she turned and trudged her way home. She did not at all feel like herself; she knew she did not even look like herself, nothing like the pretty, bouncing, fearless girl she had always been. The mirror in her bedchamber reflected a pale-faced and frightened young woman now, quite crushed by a solitude not of her own choosing.   
  
One full week after Mrs. Darcy had promised to arrange matters in some mysterious fashion, that same lady arrived at Longbourn to breakfast with her sister.   
  
“Why, Lydia! Do you eat alone, dearest?”   
  
“Mama still keeps to her room,” was all the reply Lydia ventured.   
  
Elizabeth looked sympathetic. “And you have been quite shamefully neglected by Jane and I--I know it and I am sorry. I...I am afraid that I quite forgot myself these last weeks.”   
  
Elizabeth sat beside her sister and helped herself to a muffin.   
  
“I have missed company, it is true--but you need not be sorry, I know how you loved Papa.”  
  
“Yes,” said Lizzy, reaching for the jam, “but I also love you, Lydia, and I have not been present anywhere near enough. Fret not though, dearest, I have come bearing the solution. It is in my reticule at present and very soon we shall take it up to Mama and emerge victorious from the battlefield.”  
  
“Elizabeth…” said Lydia, bewildered, “you are not...you are not _foxed,_ are you?”  
  
Mrs. Darcy set down her knife and laughed for the first time in what felt like an age. Her husband would have been glad to hear that sweet sound, for all he would have disapproved of the question that caused it.   
  
“No, Lydia, you scandalous child, I am of perfectly sound mind and entirely sober. I shall reveal all once we have gone up to Mama. Is the tea in that pot still hot?”  
  
Having fortified themselves, the ladies went up to Mrs. Bennet’s chamber and knocked on the door. Upon being bidden to come in, they entered to see Mrs. Bennet in her dressing gown and shawl, reclining on the chaise-longue. She looked up when they greeted her and surveyed them.   
  
“Well Lizzy, you are looking well. Lydia, my love, ring the bell for Hill to remove my tray, would you?”  
  
Lydia did so as Elizabeth arranged herself in a little chair beside her mother. Mrs. Bennet’s bed-chamber was a light and airy room, full of knick-knacks and pretty things. The mantle over her fireplace was packed with china figurines and delicate little vases. She herself was arrayed in her dressing gown, a frothy creation in white that suited her and her room very well. Both Elizabeth and Lydia looked odd in such a room, clad as they were in unadorned black. Lydia made a small grimace of distaste as she caught sight of herself in the large mirror beside her Mama.   
  
“Mama, I have much news. We have good reason to suppose that Theodore will become a brother next May. Mr. Darcy is very pleased, I think.”  
  
Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief, “Oh, how well that is, you have done well my dear. Of course he is pleased with you, and why on earth should he not be?”  
  
Lydia, curious about her sister’s schemes, offered Lizzy her congratulations. “But I had no idea, Lizzy!”   
  
Mrs. Darcy smiled. “No, dearest, I asked Fitzwilliam if I might pass the news along to Mama first, you see.”  
  
Mrs. Bennet well nigh preened. “That is very proper of you, Lizzy, naturally you would want your mother to know before anyone else.”   
  
“I will write to my other sisters with the news in a few days, I think, although Mary will be arriving here herself soon enough.”  
  
Mrs. Bennet nodded at this. “Aye, very true, in but a few days in fact, and Kitty will be brought to bed herself come the winter.”  
  
“Mary did not have an easy time of it with Catherine-Elizabeth, from what I hear,” responded Mrs. Darcy, ruthlessly steering the conversation where she wanted it to go.   
  
“No, Lady Catherine apparently said herself that had she not been in Bath at the time, she should have instructed the women how best to go about things.”  
  
Lydia rather thought that Mary should have disliked such interference; she knew that she would have, but Elizabeth seemed to think differently. Lydia slipped her hand into her pocket and fiddled with her pearls as Elizabeth answered their mother.  
  
“I was glad of Her Ladyship during my lying-in with Theodore. I hope that she will come to Pemberley again when this little one is ready. I have had a letter from her this morning, Mama, and she has extended a _very_ gracious invitation to you and to Lydia.”  
  
“To stay at Rosings?!” exclaimed the two women, concerned.  
  
“No-o, to bear her company in Bath and partake of the society there once your six months of deep mourning has passed. She writes, and you will forgive her lack of delicacy--she is very much used to ordering things how she likes--” Lizzy extracted her letter and read, heroically refraining from any impersonation of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s intonation or manner in her reading, “ _I remember very clearly, the way in which my own mother-in-law, Lady Susannah, vacated Rosings when I arrived as a new bride. I was most anxious to take charge of the household in my own way and the old mistress, having removed herself to the town house in Bath, cleared the way quite satisfactorily. I am aware that your family has no such townhouse, of course, and I would be glad of the change of scenery myself, should your mother and sister join me. Your Mama could not attend many society events, of course, but I daresay Miss Bennet might find me a sufficient chaperone in her stead, once she comes out of full mourning.”_ __  
__  
Lydia’s mouth gaped slightly and she shut it rapidly once she saw her reflection in the mirror.   
  
Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips and Elizabeth closed her letter.   
  
“I do hope that you will consider it, Mama. Lydia’s season has been necessarily cut short and...I rather think that it would be just what Lady Catherine needs after having lost Cousin Anne, she does so love to be of use. Mr. Darcy was very pleased to see that she is paying due deference to the relationship between us all since our marriage.” Mrs. Darcy paused here to see the effect of her words and pressed home her advantage. “I do think, Mama, that it would be very...daunting...for Mary to return here as the heir’s wife, knowing how effortlessly you have run Longbourn and wishing to find her own two feet. Fitzwilliam’s mother has long passed away, you know, but I cannot help but think it might have been very awkward.”  
  
Mrs. Bennet was looking about her room as she listened to her daughter speak. Lydia wisely remained silent, quite impressed by Elizabeth’s capabilities.  
  
“Lydia, ring that bell again, I cannot think why Hill shall have tarried so long. Our things must be packed and made ready! This room will need to be cleared and aired for Mary, I would not have anyone say that I made life harder for my own daughter. Her Ladyship speaks admirable sense...why, I remember when I arrived at Longbourn, your Grandmother Bennet--but one must not speak ill of the dead. Come! There is so much to be done, might Mr. Bingley lend me one or two footmen, do you suppose, Lizzy?”  
  
Elizabeth answered readily that if Mr. Bingley could not do so, she was certain that her husband would.   
  
Mrs. Bennet nodded absently to this, and, now having an aim and an occupation to busy herself with, rose from her reclined position as Hill entered.  
  
“Hill! Where can you have been? There is much to be done. Your new mistress is arriving in but a few days and this room will need to be cleared out. I will want my clothes and such packed away for now and my mourning attire to be moved to Mrs. Bingley’s old room; there will be extra hands sent over from Netherfield soon to help you. Oh, Hill! Such a to-do! Miss Bennet and I have been invited to Bath by Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself, is that not good news?”  
  
Hill, blinking at such lively spirits from her mistress, replied that she hoped Mrs. Bennet might find some comfort in the change of scenery.   
  
Belatedly remembering that she was a widow, Mrs. Bennet wrinkled her brow at that.   
  
“Oh, it is not for my _enjoyment_ , Hill. Miss Bennet must have the opportunity to be Seen and Mrs. Collins must be allowed to work out for herself how best to run Longbourn. She was always a studious girl so I have no doubt she will do a fine job of it.”  
  
Mrs. Darcy rose, smiling. “She was taught very well, Mama, so I am certain that she will. I must return to Netherfield, Mr. Darcy is most anxious that I do not overexert myself. I will ask about the footmen. Lydia, in six weeks or so, you might put off your blacks and wear some colours again, but I should, if I were you, keep to black gloves. Her Ladyship is a stickler for propriety.”  
  
With that, she left the room and made her way out from her childhood home to the waiting carriage. If she felt a sharp stab of sorrow as she passed her father’s book room, it was not readily apparent by the time Carter assisted her up the step. It had been a most satisfactory morning’s work.  
  
Ushered out from Mrs. Bennet’s chamber with the motherly advice, “But you must look over your own clothes, Lydia...to think we shall go to Bath! Your Father never cared for the place or you may be sure that he would have taken me,” Lydia wandered to her own room and begun to consider her dresses.   
  
She held up a plain white gown that might easily be turned to lavender for an afternoon dress. Lizzy was a marvel! She had solved any issue between Mama and Mary before it had even arisen, and she had ensured that they would be away from Meryton and somewhere that, although not so exciting as London, might do very well for the pair of them once they went into society again. What _had_ her sister written to Lady Catherine to provoke such an offer?  
  
She thought, as she held up a green silk shawl that she had often worn in London to great effect, that the only problem that she could see with the scheme was that there was no possibility of Mr. Warwick finding her in Bath and she might never see him again.  
  
The shawl was tossed on the bed and she turned to face the mirror. That was an unpleasant thought; she would not at all like to go through the world, to live the rest of her life, and never again be the focus of that pale gaze or see his handsome face, or be made to giggle by him--even when she was sure she ought to be annoyed.   
  
Lydia blinked at her reflection and shook her head. There was little point in thinking of it now. _If_ he loved her, as he had said he did, he would come, and when he did…  
  
The butler knocked upon the door with a sharp rap, having brought up the first of her trunks as per Mrs. Bennet’s orders.   
  
She stared at it, for a full minute, once he had gone. Her whole life was to be packed away in these chests, not for a short exciting jaunt--but perhaps for the last time. Lydia would have to bid farewell to this house as she had known it; she knew for sure that she did __not want to be dependant on Mr. Collins or Mary. Odious thought!   
  
Thus it was, that by the time Mr. and Mrs. Collins arrived at Longbourn, Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennet were ready to leave it within two days and to travel in Mr. Darcy’s coach to meet Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Bath. There would be some weeks in which they would not be permitted to go out much in society, but, Lady Catherine had written, once Miss Bennet was in black gloves, she should be glad of the favour of her company to the Pump Room.   
  
Lydia had stifled a giggle when Mrs. Bennet read that particular passage to her.   
  
Clever Lizzy!  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have the penultimate chapter of 'Tacked' which I hope you will enjoy.
> 
> Wheelrider has once again ridden in on a white horse with quill drawn and ready to do battle against 92 wee beasties that might distract you all from your amusement. Thank you, Wheelrider. :) 
> 
> I am afraid I have no idea about when I will be able to post the last chapter, I have had part of it written for a good long while but it needs some considerable work. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading. :)

Bath was a pleasant enough place, in Lydia’s opinion, and Lady Catherine’s house was suitably large and well situated for the three ladies who dwelt in it not to forever be in each other’s way. Her bedchamber overlooked the park and the sandstone houses made a sufficiently interesting picture to study when they were kept indoors by the persistent rain that seemed to plague the city.  
  
Her Ladyship, after having declared that Lydia’s education had been shockingly lacking, had decided, a week after having arrived, that she liked the girl for all that. This was in part on account of Lydia having returned with a delightfully painted fan for her, on her very first shopping trip out. The ebony sticks were made interesting by the delicate feather patterns that had been etched onto it and the silk had been painstakingly painted in the same manner as a peacock. With the same careless generosity to which she showed everyone, Lydia had instantly thought that Lady Catherine might wear it with one of her dark green velvet and black lace evening gowns that she so favoured.   
  
Lady Catherine, having previously considered that Miss Bennet was shamefully ignorant, decided upon being so prettily presented with the fan, that she was a good sort of young lady, really. After all, a mind could be educated, but a bad nature would have been far more disastrous.   
  
It was indeed fortunate for Miss Bennet that she was there to aid her; there was nothing she relished more than a challenging project and, upon consideration, it would not be so very impossible to get a good-humoured, attractive and elegantly dressed girl, _well_ settled. Lady Catherine looked forward to writing to Mrs. Darcy of her triumph in the matter; her niece deserved some sort of riposte to the crowing notes she had sent to Rosings after Mrs. Osmond-Price and Mrs. Kentmire’s successes.   
  
In a similar fashion, Lady Catherine was also pleased with Mrs. Bennet. There was a sort of dignity about her that she recognised well; she liked to mention her late husband often, but was not forever weeping and wailing over that which could not be altered. Part of this must surely be on account of her own condescension toward a fellow widow. Her Ladyship did not at all mind that Mrs. Bennet was a little silly, she was clearly willing to be well guided. Lady Catherine herself had instructed Mrs. Bennet that she must not be idle, and upon discovering that she had something of a knack for menu planning, delegated the task to her to their mutual satisfaction.   
  
Mrs. Bennet treated their hostess with a faintly awed respect. She had never before met a woman of rank that spoke her mind in such forthright tones. If Lady Catherine declared that it was perfectly acceptable for Miss Bennet to attend a party in lavender, well then, so it must be--she even accepted with meekness the implied order that Mrs. Bennet must remain at home. Such high-handedness both annoyed and amused Lydia, who had never before encountered anyone who managed her Mama half so well. She said to Lady Catherine, one evening in the carriage, that she reminded her very much of Lizzy.   
  
Her Ladyship nodded graciously, pleased to see a glimmer of intelligence in her protégé.   
  
“I have said it myself, Miss Bennet, when I first met your sister at Rosings. Quality is instantly recognisable when one has it oneself. Now, you must be first introduced to Beau Nash this evening before anyone else. You may not dance, of course, but you will like to make new acquaintances.”   
  
For Lydia, Bath did not hold a candle to the delights and joys of London. Perhaps this was why she did not view it in the same-starry eyed manner as she had done when she made her debut. She acquitted herself well enough in company, but at home she very easily became subdued and spent long afternoons lost in thought, her hand in her pocket.   
  
Mrs. Bennet confided to Lady Catherine that she thought the poor child was still grieving the loss of her Father. Her Ladyship, unable to fathom that anyone could be unhappy in her household, accepted this explanation and with an interfering sort of kindness attempted to distract Miss Bennet from her grief by telling her about her own father, the late Earl of Matlock.   
  
The months passed and very soon Mrs. Bennet went into half-mourning. Lydia was very glad of this, for her Mama did not look so pretty as she was used to, and put her energies into suggesting various colours that might suit. It was decided that a gentle dove grey would suit Mrs. Bennet very well, and when paired with black gloves and black lace cap, her Mama looked decidedly elegant.   
  
Mrs. Bennet tittered a little when Lydia offered the suggestion that no one would think her old enough to be anyone’s widow. Lady Catherine, who was not more than a decade ahead of Mrs. Bennet, took exception to this tactlessness and pointed out that she herself was often mistaken for a much younger woman.

 It so happened that one evening, at a card party, Sir Daniel James sought her out from across the room. Seeing her sitting, at that moment, with docility beside Her Ladyship, smiled and walked across. Bowing, he said, “Miss Bennet! I had not at all expected to see you in Bath, how do you do?”  
  
Lydia rose and curtseyed to him, glad to see any of her old friends from London, quite forgetting that she had been a little relieved when he left without making a declaration.   
  
“Sir Daniel! What do you do here? Oh! I beg your pardon, madam. Lady Catherine, may I present Sir Daniel James, he was used to call at Darcy House when I was still in London. Sir Daniel, this is Lady Catherine de Bourgh...Mama and I are staying with her in Bath for the present.”   
  
Sir Daniel bowed and Lady Catherine, quirking an eyebrow at him, was so gracious as to nod to him.   
  
“How do you do, Sir Daniel. Am I correct in thinking that your late father was Sir Nathaniel James?” This being confirmed, Lady Catherine almost smiled, “I had thought so, there are few people with a better memory than I for lines of rank. Sir Lewis de Bourgh was used to attend house parties hosted by your parents, you know--before he married me, that is.”   
  
Sir Daniel made light, if vaguely dull, conversation with Lady Catherine whilst Lydia played with the ribbon she had tied about her wrist that evening. She watched enviously as a blonde young woman floated by in a cream satin and blue jacquard dress. How she missed _proper_ colours!   
  
“...and Miss Bennet will confirm that, I am sure.” She heard Sir Daniel murmur. Blinking, she nodded, despite having little notion what he had been talking of. She had quite forgotten how easily she lost track of his conversation...it was his voice that did it. He took such an age to carefully select his words that she quite lost interest in hearing the remainder of the sentence.   
  
Lady Catherine, pleased by something, almost cordially invited Sir Daniel to call upon them one morning and gave him the address. 

Once he had gone, she turned to her charge and, looking her over critically, said that she had the unusual knack of knowing which men did not like to hear young ladies forever talking.   
  
“It is a rare gift of discernment, Miss Bennet; depend upon it, you might do very well indeed.”   
  
Lydia did not think that Lady Catherine would be amused to hear that her mind had simply wandered, and so smiled in thanks for the compliment. She hoped that Sir Daniel did not come to call very soon.

Alas for poor Lydia, he did.   
  
On the third morning after having been introduced to Lady Catherine, he presented himself at the front door and handed Evans the card. Lydia was sat in the drawing room, tearing apart a bonnet of her Mama’s. She had bought some grey silk with which she thought to recover it with in neat little pleats. Her mother was sat beside the fire, opposite Lady Catherine. They had both received letters that morning and were exchanging news.   
  
“The Darcys have returned to Pemberley, Mrs. Bennet. I gather that Mrs. Darcy will be requiring my assistance in the near future.”   
  
“Oh yes, indeed Lady Catherine, I recall her saying that she was very grateful for your help when Theodore…”   
  
“Certainly I could do no less, Mrs. Bennet. My own dear sister would have wished it, I am sure.”   
  
“Truly, you were very good and…”   
  
“Ah! Young Theodore has taken his first steps...Mrs. Darcy is very properly enquiring of me if Darcy did so at a similar age. I remember it well, for Miss de Bourgh took her very first steps within a few days of my receiving that letter. How does Mrs. Collins get on, Mrs. Bennet?”   
  
“Oh, marvellously, Lady Catherine. She says that she has encouraged Mr. Collins to hire a steward, he has taken her counsel in the matter and she says that…”   
  
“Very wise of her, Mrs. Bennet. I have often said that a good steward is really _essential_ to the smooth running of an estate. Mrs. Collins must have taken on board my having mentioned it while they were yet at Hunsford Parsonage. I will write to her, I think; it is good for a new mistress of an estate to have the advice of those more experienced.”   
  
“Oh yes, I am sure…” 

“Sir Daniel James is below, my Lady, and desires me to request an audience with Your Ladyship,” intoned Evans in his deep voice. Lydia did not think she had ever met a man with a lower octave of speech than this butler. She reluctantly set aside the bonnet with the pleat that she was carefully aligning and laid down her pins.  
  
“You must not interrupt Mrs. Bennet, Evans!” Lady Catherine reprimanded.  
  
Evans bowed to Mrs. Bennet, “I beg your pardon, Madam.”  
  
“It is of no matter, Evans, I cannot recall that I was saying anything very…”  
  
“Well, you must show him up, Evans...do not keep Sir Daniel standing in the hallway.”  
  
Evans left and returned with Sir Daniel in tow.   
  
“Lady Catherine, Miss Bennet. Good morning to you. It is a very fine morning, is it not?”  
  
“Good morning, Sir Daniel. We have not yet been out thus far, but thought we might take a trip to Lady Metcalf’s musicale this evening. You are not known to Miss Bennet’s mother, I do not think. Mrs. Bennet, this is Sir Daniel James, doubtless Miss Bennet will have written to you of him when they became acquainted in London. Sir Daniel, Mrs. Bennet.”   
  
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bennet. I was sorry to hear from her Ladyship that you are recently widowed. My condolences, Madam. I myself am painfully familiar with the grief one feels for a departed spouse. My wife died less than two years ago now.”  
  
Mrs. Bennet, quite struck by the tragedy of bereavement, thanked him in disjointed words. He was quite charmed by what he saw as timidity, a trait he admired in ladies, and exerted himself to please.   
  
Lydia, ordinarily disliking to be left out of any conversation, was quite relieved and mentally began trimming the grey silk bonnet with black velvet ribbon. Tied with a simple bow, it would be really quite delightful. Her Mama would doubtless look very well in it. It could be made even prettier with the addition of a veil. Lady Catherine favoured veils on a bonnet and Lydia really thought that she may be on to something with them. They leant a decided air of mystery; one was obliged to study the rest of the hat carefully as there were fewer distractions in terms of a person's face to contend with. Upon consideration, veils ought to be compulsory.  
  
“Lydia!” hissed Mrs. Bennet. Lydia noted that all the occupants of the room were looking at her, waiting for her attention.   
  
“La! I am sorry, I was thinking of…” She caught sight of of Lady Catherine’s brows rising high upon her head and improvised, “my father. Do forgive me.”   
  
Her Ladyship nodded her absolution, Mrs. Bennet looked affected and Sir Daniel James offered his sympathies.   
  
“I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I was quite caught up with offering my condolences to your mother, having been widowed myself, and quite forgot a daughter’s grief. Do not give your lapse in manners another thought, Miss Bennet. Under the circumstances it is quite understandable.”  
  
Lydia rather thought that a lapse in manners was quite understandable in any circumstances surrounding him, but did not say so. Instead she fiddled with the pearls in her pocket, imagining for a moment what Mr. Warwick might have said to Sir Daniel.   
  
This brought a smile and she directed it at the gentleman in question. “Would you mind repeating yourself, sir?”  
  
“I thought you might like to visit the park, Miss Bennet. The flowerbeds there are looking quite delightful at present. I have some thought of having something similar put into the garden at my estate.”  
  
Lydia looked at the bonnet on the table. She did not particularly wish to leave it half done, but suspected that it would be a little too rude to state her wishes. She nodded. “Very well, I will just dash upstairs and change into my outdoor clothes.”  
  
Twenty-five minutes later, Miss Bennet and Sir Daniel exited the house and strolled toward the park. Bidden, a fairly aged servant of Lady Catherine, followed them at a distance.   
  
“You must not permit your earlier rudeness to cast you down, Miss Bennet,” began Sir Daniel, thinking that her silence was shame. “You are yet young and have not the same resilience to bereavement that a more experienced woman might have.”  
  
Lydia, quite unaware that she was doing so, took the wind out of his sails by assuring him that she was not in the least cast down.   
  
“I have been wondering, Sir Daniel, if perhaps your gold tassells might suit a rather better fitted boot...but of course I am no expert in men’s footwear. Is it very far to the park? I have been re-covering a bonnet for Mama, you know, and I do think she would like to wear it soon.”  
  
Struggling for a moment, Sir Daniel supposed that Miss Bennet was a very devoted daughter and complimented her for it. “However flighty the means of expression, Miss Bennet, I commend you for your regard for your widowed mother. I have occasionally thought that if my late wife had been able to leave me with a child, I should have drawn great comfort from it.”  
  
Lydia wondered if the late Lady James had perished merely to add some interest to her life.   
  
Sir Daniel did not leave pause for her to comment, however, so she remained silent.   
  
“I should still very much value a child, Miss Bennet. The entailment upon my estate leaves me in something of a predicament. There is not even a distant male cousin who can inherit once I am gone. My family name will die out, and my lands will revert to the crown. Given that I cannot at _all_ approve of the conduct of the royal family at present, I wish to avoid this. I have settled upon it that you ought to be the next Lady James. I had an inkling of it in London and seeing you in Bath quite confirms it. I know that you are young and have moments of...well, perhaps it is better not to dwell on such things, but you will certainly learn dignity when you are in a respected position in society. I will guide you myself.”   
  
Lydia wrinkled her nose. How did one refuse a request that had not actually been _requested_?   
  
“Ummm…” said Lydia.  
  
“Miss Bennet?”  
  
“You see, Sir Daniel, I don’t think I want to.”  
  
He was perplexed. “I do not comprehend your meaning, Miss Bennet. You do not want to _what_?”  
  
“Be the next Lady James, produce you a child, learn dignity...be guided by you. Any of it, really.”  
  
Sir Daniel missed his step on the pavement and stopped stock still where they stood. Disbelief was apparent in every line of his expression.  
  
“I do not think you quite know what you are saying, Miss Bennet,” he said, at last--having passed through the entrance to the park and onto the avenue of trees that led from the gate. “I do not think I am being immodest when I suggest that it would be a _very_ advantageous match for you.”   
  
“Yes, I had thought of that already, Sir Daniel, and I still do not think we should suit.”   
  
“I am worth fifteen thousand pounds a _year_ ,” he said, clearly intending to rebuke her.  
  
Lydia was swiftly becoming wearied by now. “No, I am sure that you are not.” Mr. Warwick had been right about that, fifteen thousand pounds was not at all worth enduring such a boring husband for the rest of his life. She half smiled then, and had to look away. Mr. Warwick would have enjoyed this moment...no doubt his eyes would have smiled at her, crinkling at the corners even as his mouth remained straight.   
  
“...can see you intend to insult me, madam. I have clearly misread your character very badly. To think I had meant to honour you so...I have been very badly misled.”  
  
Riled, Lydia replied with some spirit, “Misled! Sir Daniel, if you fooled yourself into thinking that my character was any different than the one I present to everyone, then it is not my fault. How am I to know what silly fancies you will take into your head?”   
  
Angrily he cast off her hand which until now had been curled around his arm and turned to the servant that stood a little behind them. “You there! You had best escort this young _person_ home, for I shall not do it.”  
  
Midden raised his eyebrows. It was not at all right, to his way of thinking, to refer to a young lady in such terms, and Miss Bennet was a pretty, lively thing after all. Her eyes were blazing fire at the rude gentleman with her.   
  
“Don’t think y’should be callin’ Miss Bennet a young _person_ , sir. Correct term is young _lady_.” Midden was an elderly servant, but was very set in his ways. If an ill-bred fellow insulted a guest in his mistress’ house, _he_ knew what to do with him.  
  
“I could call her much worse!” retorted Sir Daniel, straightening his coat with a sharp tug. Lydia surveyed it, critically.   
  
“I do think you ought to have refrained from adding those last few capes, Sir Daniel. I am not at all convinced that you have the height to do them justice.”   
  
“I see that _you_ have nought but flightiness and vanity in your head, madam. I have made myself a very lucky escape indeed. I am thankful that I have _not_ allied myself with one who is so vulgar-minded.”  
  
“Want me to put him in a heap for you, Miss Bennet?” asked Midden, quite willing to teach Sir Daniel some manners.   
  
“Give me a gun, Midden, and I will do it myself! You are talking a good deal of nonsense, Sir Daniel. Escape? How have you _escaped_? You were rejected! I shall tell you this for nothing, sir--you have spoken to me as though I should fall over myself with gratitude at your proposal, but I cannot at all see that _any_ amount of money or _any_ size of estate is worth the dullness of _you_ being part of the bargain. I know of only one woman who might be desperate enough to consider you--Charlotte Lucas--and _she_ has been a confirmed spinster for these last ten years at least!”  
  
Having these last words hurled at his head, Sir Daniel, his face set in a sneer of disgust, turned and stalked off without so much as a bow.   
  
“Twasn’t how it was done in my day, Miss,” said Midden, evidently feeling the need to speak. “In _my_ day the gentlemen that was _called_ gentlemen, was all a spot pleasanter about taking a lady’s rejection. Lady Catherine got shot of a fair few herself, Miss, if you’ll forgive the liberty of my saying so.”   
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Please note my failure to wrap this up in one last chapter, I will post one more after this...no idea when!   
> b) Wheelrider zoomed through 87 mistakes and left skid marks through them. Wheely good beta! (Sorry, I shouldn't try to make puns when I am feeling high-spirited)  
> c) I hope you enjoy this, happy reading! :)

To Lydia’s surprise, Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not direct any anger toward her when she returned from her walk alone. Beau Nash had called upon them and was sat making conversation with Mrs. Bennet beside the window when she re-entered the room.   
  
“Are you returned so soon, Lydia, my love? I had expected you to be much longer. Did Sir Daniel not wish to come up and take his leave? Look, here is Mr. Nash come to call upon us. You are acquainted already, are you not?”   
  
Lydia dropped a curtsey to the bewigged gentleman. “Good day to you, sir. Mama, you will be vastly shocked by this, but Sir Daniel quite abandoned me in the park! If Midden had not been with me I should have been quite unprotected!” Seeing that she had drawn the unblinking attention of her hostess, Lydia continued, “Your ability to select your servants is to be congratulated, dear Lady Catherine, for I was never more glad of anyone than when he offered to teach Sir Daniel some manners...Sir Daniel was so very rude, you know.”   
  
Her Ladyship, nodding decisively, said, “Midden has been with me since before I was married, Miss Bennet. I was ever celebrated for my judgement even then, and I  _ specifically  _ told the late Earl that I wished him to come with me. I am appalled at such a lack of good manners from Sir Daniel and I shall ensure that the other chaperones in Bath are made aware of such a lapse. It is insupportable that a gentleman should comport himself so; depend upon it, there can be no excuse. I am  _ seriously  _ displeased.”   
  
Beau Nash, seeing the distress on Mrs. Bennet’s face, said in a comforting tone, “I too shall make sure it is known, Mrs. Bennet--I am not little known in this town, I do believe, and I will certainly use what influence I have to see that the fellow is suitably punished by good society. You need not fear, Madam, that your dear daughter will have to meet him again.”   
  
Her dear daughter felt a little disappointed by this, as she had thought of half a dozen things on the walk back that she would like to hurl at Sir Daniel. It seemed she would be denied the opportunity. Lady Catherine appeared to agree, for she said, “Mr. Nash, Miss Bennet need have no fear of such a thing, for if  _ I  _ see him again, I shall tell him precisely what I think of his conduct and  _ publically _ censure him for it.”   
  
Lydia looked hopefully toward Mr. Nash, who shook his head. “I am sure that any young man facing Your Ladyship’s wrath ought to quake in his boots, but Mrs. Bennet here would likely wish to avoid such a scene--it may cause some talk, you know.”   
  
Mrs. Bennet looked at the established leader of Bath society and fluttered her lace-edged handkerchief a little. “Oh sir! So very kind and thoughtful...I do not know that I have ever come across such  _ gentlemanly  _ manners, I am altogether quite…”   
  
“That is all very well, Mr. Nash,” said Lady Catherine, her mouth twisting slightly in amusement at the admiring look that he was casting toward the widow. Why gentlemen had such a preference for weak females was a thing she could never comprehend. “But I am adamant that the fellow be brought to realise his error...that he should insult a young woman under  _ my _ protection is beyond the bounds of anything--I am deeply, yes,  _ deeply _ , offended by it!”   
  
Her Ladyship eventually calmed down, once she had visited all her friends in Bath and written to many of her acquaintances in Kent. Within the space of a week, it was widely established that Sir Daniel James was quite unfit for the title of gentleman and thus quite comprehensively ostracized from the strict society that Bath was so famed for.   
  
Midden, already greatly favoured by the former Catherine Fitzwilliam, found himself even more so once he related the entirety of his overhearrings in her ear that very afternoon. He knew full well that she was not so very severe as she made herself out to be; she had been a lively sort of girl in her youth, after all, and he rather suspected that in spite of her tuttings and shaken head, she had enjoyed hearing of Miss Bennet’s spirited rejection of her suitor. Certainly, her Ladyship had smiled at him when he had, with great offended dignity, rejected the guinea she had offered him in thanks for supporting Miss Bennet.    
  
“Accept money for doing my duty to your Ladyship? I should say not, Ma’am. I do not think, my Lady, that I have ever been of a grasping sort o’ disposition, and beggin’ your Ladyship’s pardon, but you been around just as long as I have to well know it. Given how I performed that same duty to your Ladyship often enough.”   
  
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, feeling for all the world as if she were eighteen years old again and whisked back to the time when she had eviscerated Mr. Peregrine Malmsbury, who had dared to squeeze her hand during a carriage ride, quirked an eyebrow and returned the guinea to her purse. She informed Midden, with a wry glint in her eye, that there was nothing so revolting as misplaced pride and sent him off on his way. Loyal servants were so very hard to come by, after all.

Lydia found pity to be quite intolerable; she never wasted it on other people herself, and so rather resented it when she knew that it was directed towards her. She was  _ almost  _ relieved when, having endured three successive evenings of comforting words and gentle support from the matrons of Bath, her throat became quite sore and her head ached enough that, upon returning home, she was sent directly to bed by her Mama and told not to emerge until she felt better.    
  
She was a very healthy girl in general, and to be so confined and fussed over was a dreadful ordeal. Having further endured the foul potions that the apothecary brought over, Lydia recovered quickly enough, but was greatly annoyed to be forbidden from going out at all until the space of a full week had passed. Lydia rather suspected that Lady Catherine had informed the doddering old apothecary of her opinions on the matter and so the wretched coward had not dared to argue. She once again found herself biting her tongue, however, and bitterly regretting the necessity of it.

On the last rainy morning of her imprisonment, Lydia was sat listlessly by the window, watching the droplets of water collect on the pane of glass and run down in miniature rivers toward the sill.   
  
Had she been in, Lady Catherine would have given her something useful to do, and Mrs. Bennet would have clucked over her. The two widows had gone out that morning, however, to the Pump Room, where Beau Nash would undoubtedly flirt outrageously with the pretty Mrs. Bennet. Lydia felt little by way of loyalty to her dead father but found it unsettling to be constantly hearing of another gentleman’s virtues from her Mama. Perhaps it was the change of it that bothered her so. It would be just her ill luck if all of her sisters and her own Mama married before she did.   


She  _ detested _ feeling maudlin, and did not quite know what to do. Everything had altered in her life so awfully fast. Her sisters all married, her home gone (for it did not matter what Mary said in her letters, she did  _ not _ belong there anymore), and her mother moving on with such horrid ease. She did not  _ wish _ to live at Longbourn, neither did she want to go to Pemberley again--she didn’t especially want to live in the same house as Caroline Bingley, and she certainly had no desire to journey all the way to Norfolk to be bored silly by endless boating expeditions such as poor Kitty was subjected to.   
  
She closed her eyes and rested her hot forehead against the cool glass. A teardrop gathered and traced its way down her cheek. Lydia felt a longing for the years gone by, when they were none of them married but all happily and noisily living under one roof. She had never felt lonely  _ then _ , never worried herself about good manners or not saying things she ought not...the Bennet girls were her sisters, she could say to them whatever first popped into her head and know full well that they would either tolerate it or object and reply just as honestly.   
  
There was only  _ one _ other in the world now to whom she could speak so, and  _ he _ must not even enter her head. How could it be, that she missed  _ him _ of all people? That when she thought of London, she thought of him and those green eyes and that smile hovering about his mouth whenever she said something a little shocking?    
  
She had bought two ribbons at the haberdashers, each of them green, and brought them home, tacking them together so that they might not be separated. The one side reminded her of Mr. Warwick’s pale eyes in the bright sunshine, and the other, the slightly richer tint brought about by candlelight. The sewn-up green ribbons lived in her pocket with her pearls and her hand visited them often.    
  
The tears fell hot and fast from her eyes, and she did not care. Lydia felt utterly miserable and wished she had never met him.  _ That  _ thought brought a lump to her throat and the tears fell yet faster. She heard the sound of the door from below and sighed; her solitude was at an end. Lady Catherine and her mother were already returned. They would likely go to their rooms before coming into this ugly striped parlour (Lady Catherine had not thought it worth changing the paper) to change into their slippers.    
  
She turned at the door opening and the butler stepped in.

  
“Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet, but the Earl of Warwick is desirous of a few minutes of your time.” He looked at her blotched face and said delicately, “But perhaps Miss is not yet feeling quite well enough to receive callers…”   
  
Lydia fished about for her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. She did not know what the Earl was doing in Bath but perhaps he had news from her London friends. Maybe she would even be able to glean from him how his cousin was and whether or not he had found a suitable heiress to marry, seeing as how his letter to Mrs. Kentmire suggested that he had changed his ways. She was sure she was not even jealous. What did she care  _ whom _ he married? It is not as though she wanted him anyway. The vague hope entered her mind that he was sent by Mr. Warwick,  _ her  _ Mr. Warwick, as an ambassador of sorts, and she swallowed.   
  
“It’s alright, Evans--you may send His Lordship in, doubtless he will wish to pass on a message to me or some such thing.” Lydia sniffed and Evans concealed a wince. “Could you have tea sent up, please? I do not think the Earl copes with the damp so very well and may wish to be warmed.”   
  
The stately butler bowed and retreated.    
  
Lydia went to the little round gilt-edged mirror that rested on a table to see if the tear stains were at all obvious and was dismayed to see that they were. Worse than that, her nose was quite red. Perhaps the Earl would attribute it to grief for her father and overlook them.   
  
His Lordship, entering the room with a quick step, checked on the threshold and saw at once that Miss Bennet had been sobbing her pretty eyes out.    
  
“Well my pet, it is a good thing I came when I did. Shall I take you out shopping, Lydia?”   
  
Lydia’s heart dropped to her feet and then bounced back up to her mouth.    
  
“Mr. Warwick!” she gasped, “Evans did not announce you...that is, he  _ did,  _ but he said…”   
  
“Ah, you’ve not heard. My cousin, the late Earl, passed away a month ago. I am only just out of mourning clothes.”   
  
He crossed the room to her and held her face in both his hands, tipping it towards the light. Joy flooded her, and then immediately after realising it, she was cross with herself for feeling so. She looked into his eyes, trying to lose herself in them, so that when he was gone again she would remember it forever. Neither ribbon had been quite right--the shade was so very light it would be hard to replicate, and even if she could find the correct colour, there would not be that laughing tenderness in it that made her feel so light and free. Her heart hammered in her chest and she wondered if he could hear it.   
  
“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, closing her eyes and leaning her face further into his warm palms.    
  
“I came to convince you to marry me for my money, Lydia. I am come armed with bribery and blackmail and I shan’t be sent away without your promise.” He sounded serious enough, for all that his eyes were crinkled in amusement.   
  
“Oh... _ don’t _ . I have been  _ very _ unhappy. Papa died, you know, and since then everything has been awfully dull and sombre.”   
  
“Yes, I had heard,” he said soberly. “I was frantic, to call that morning at Darcy House and discover you had gone. It took me a week of misery to discover what had happened, but just as I was about to mount my horse to come to Longbourn, my cousin fell quite dreadfully ill and the Countess needed me. I wished so much to be with you, Lydia, but...my conscience would not permit me to ignore it any longer and I felt I must do my duty to my family. He hung on for nigh on three months; each day we thought that he could not possibly manage another day, but...”    
  
“Mama sent an express in the morning and we were gone as soon as we were ready. There was no way of leaving you a message or  _ anything _ .”   
  
“Did you want to, Lydia?”   
  
She nodded.    
  
“It was only when I did not think I would see you again that I…” she stopped, not at all knowing what to say.   
  
“Lydia, my pet, if you do not complete that sentence I shall strangle you.” His hands dropped down to her neck, but they were gentle and drew her in closer to him.   
  
Lydia wondered how it was that she felt more like herself with him near. When had it begun, that she could not feel complete without him nearby?   
  
“I had not realised how freeing it was to have someone with whom I did not have to mind my tongue. It is the very worst thing about being a young lady, you know: you cannot say the first thing that enters your head and it is  _ exhausting _ .”    
  
Her suitor smiled tenderly and swept away a tendril of hair from her cheek.   
  
“Is that what you were weeping over, when I came in?”   
  
“In part, yes. I was ill this week, after the incident with Sir Daniel, no, you must not interrupt me! It was a minor thing and he is now quite cast out of society because of it...but what was I saying? Oh yes, I am a little melancholy to be so displaced. Home has always been Longbourn, but now it is not. I don’t have anywhere to throw down all my ribbons and feel comfortable. This is Lady Catherine de Bourgh's house and she is very fond of order--like her nephew.”   
  
The Earl of Warwick, for the moment permitting Sir Daniel to go uninvestigated, laughed lowly at the irritation in her voice. His hands moved from her neck and dropped to close about her waist. She uttered no protest and even laid a hand on his chest.    
  
“Lydia. Marry me. You can spread your ribbons willy-nilly over each and every one of my houses if you wish to.  _ Marry me. _ I am sorry I ever considered taking your sister-in-law. You are the other half of myself. If I had not spoken to you  _ properly _ and not seen what you are I should have been miserable all my life. I was wrong, so  _ very _ wrong, that day in the park...what is worse is that I think I knew it all along and ignored my own conscience. Well... I may never be a saint, my pet, but I hope to be less dreadful than I have been.”   
  
Lydia, for the first time in an age, dimpled.    
  
“Mr. Warwick...oh no, that is wrong, my Lord…”   
  
“I like that, it sounds almost docile, coming from you.” he interrupted.   
  
“Oh, do be quiet!” she said, and reached up to kiss him.   
  
It was perhaps a little unfortunate that Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mrs. Bennet and Evans (who was bearing the tea tray) chose that moment to enter the room.    
  
Mrs. Bennet gave a small shriek, Lady Catherine de Bourgh tutted audibly and Evans, being a very fine butler indeed, carefully set the tray down on a little table before retreating to laugh at his leisure below stairs.   
  
“Miss Bennet, I insist that you desist in such behaviour immediately!” cried her Ladyship in commanding tones.   
  
Lydia smiled at her, and taking the Earl by the hand, said, “Oh Lady Catherine, I am so happy! This is the Earl of Warwick--Mama! Mama! I am to be a  _ Countess _ . Is that not exciting? Of course, I am a little sorry not to have had the excitement of eloping and being taken to Gretna Green, but I daresay I shall be just as content to be wed in the ordinary fashion.”   
  
My Lord Warwick, grinning at his bride-to-be, interceded at that point.    
  
“I take it that I must apply to you, Mrs. Bennet, for permission to marry this delightful baggage.”   
  
Quite charmed by the tender care with which the Earl looked at her daughter, Mrs Bennet-- with what Lady Catherine thought to be undue eagerness--replied without any noticeable hesitation or regret, “Oh, you may have her my Lord, of course.” 

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The very last chapter of Tacked. Thank you for coming along for the journey with me, I hope I have succeeded in my objective of making you like Lydia a little more than you did at the beginning. 
> 
> Wheelrider has rescued you all from 56 mistakes and I am very grateful for such kindness in helping me out. 
> 
> There is an already written one-shot that I will try to post at some point in the misty future about Lydia being Lydia and encountering a highwayman. Can't exactly say that she comes off worse out of the two of them.
> 
> I took a liberty and rescheduled Beau Nash and John Wesley's Bath meeting for my own purposes. The internet informs me that it took place in 1739 rather than the non-specific now of this time frame.
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who have commented and left kudos on this, the encouragement means more to me than I can say. I read nice comments and they make me smile.

He took her out after that, and they walked together down the street. They set off without any firm direction in mind and ambled along, entirely absorbed in each other’s presence. There seemed so much to speak of, so much that they had missed of each other in half a year, that they hardly knew where to begin.

Yet begin they did. Lord Warwick, Lydia’s gloved hand tucked into the crook of his arm, told her of his failed visit to Darcy House, only hours after they had left. 

“The wretched butler couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell me anything at all about where you had gone or why. I tried again the next day and my heart dropped to my boots when I saw the black crepe go up and did not know for whom it was.”

“I suppose you thought I had misfired another gun,” interrupted Lydia, able, for perhaps the first time in her life, to imagine the feelings of another person. Her tone was jovial but her face was sympathetic.

He smiled, as she hoped he would, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “The thought crossed my mind, my pet. You shall have yours back as soon as may be; I have kept it in my pocket all the while. I really must show you how to fire the thing and load it properly-- perhaps we will head to the Castle when we are married and I will set up a firing range for you.”

“What need have I to know how to shoot a gun, Mr. Wa...oh bother...my Lord? You are the only man I ever wanted to shoot and I don’t any more.”

“I told you that you would like me better by and by, did I not?” answered her future husband, with clear satisfaction. “If we continue like this you will be in a fair way to being head over heels in love with me by Michaelmas.”

It was not in Lydia’s nature to be reticent with her feelings.

“Probably, I should think it very likely, since I already am.”

His breath hitched and she watched him carefully. She rather thought he would be pleased but it was not very obvious if he was. She remarked on it.

“Pleased! Yes, but what are you about, Lydia--to say such a thing to me now when I can’t respond as I should like?”

Lydia laughed and looked about her. It was true, there were a large number of people about, most of whom probably knew Lady Catherine. 

“Kiss me, you mean? I should have liked that, I don’t mind all the people if you do not.” 

Lord Warwick looked about him, scanning the area, his mouth twisted wryly, and then he laughed, an edge of rueful self-mockery in his voice. “No, can’t be done, my pet. People might think I had to marry you to save my reputation.”

Now Lydia giggled thinking how good it was to be teased by him again. “Well I shan’t make you if you don’t want to, Mr. Wa...Oh, this is annoying, I am afraid you will just have to be Justin until I remember correctly. To think that earlier, this very morning, I was thinking how much I should like to be called ‘Mrs. Warwick’ and now I shan’t be. I had no notion that your cousin was so very ill.”

“Your Ladyship will suit you much better than a mere ‘Mrs. Warwick’, my pet. Doubtless you will rule the ton with an iron fist like that Brummell fellow. How is it we have reached the shops without any error? Come, I shall find us a little tea house and feed you cake.”

“Oh, dear Mr. Brummell! How grand we shall sound, Justin. May we marry very soon? I do not think I like Bath so much as London, it is a very dreary place.”

The Earl looked down at the young woman by his side and found it curiously hard to swallow. Happiness suited her: there was a spring in her step and a merry sparkle in her eyes. A dimple on one side of her mouth was in evidence, and although she was not an incomparable beauty, he found that he did not care one little bit. This darling, lively girl was all he had wanted for months now, and having finally won her, he found that his next aim in life was for her always to be thus. The slumped shoulders and red eyes that he had seen from the threshold of the reception room door did not please him at all. Lydia should always be happy--and she would be, if he had anything to say about it. 

“Lydia.”

“Hmm?” she said. She was looking in a shop window at a bonnet and thinking it might be improved upon with the addition of a ribbon or two. 

“Lydia.”

She turned then, and looked at him. “What is it, Justin?”

“I am sorry, you know. For the abduction, I mean. I think it must have made you very frightened to do as you did and fight off those hired men. I can’t help but feel I should give any other man a sound thrashing if he alarmed you so.”

“Oh! That. Yes. Well, I mean, no. It was not very pleasant and I did cast up my accounts as soon as we returned home, but you have already said that you were wrong...at Hatchard’s and at the museum, remember? Let it be done with; I have learnt to love you and I do not think I am wrong in deciding to trust you. In any case, at least I have had a grand adventure that I can boast of. Not one of my friends has such a story to tell as I do.”

Her betrothed looked a little rueful. “Yes, I suppose that I did.” he said slowly. “In the interests of honesty, and I hope we always will be so to each other...I did not mean that at Hatchard’s. I had meant that I was wrong in attempting to wed Miss Darcy, she was all wrong for me, or at least, I was wrong for her. I don’t entirely know what I was thinking. It was not until after that I began to realise how far I had sunk...I do not think I knew myself until you had gone away from me.”

In spite of herself, Lydia giggled. “She did not enjoy the adventure at all, not even afterwards. Poor thing.”

He shook his head and walked onward with her. A crowd had gathered at the entrance to Milsom Street and Lydia wondered what it might mean. She spied one of Lady Catherine’s many acquaintances, who had just come out of the clock-makers shop and was watching her with disapproving surprise. 

“Miss Bennet...are you quite alone? I do not think Lady Catherine would be quite pleased to see you walking with a gentleman and no footman in evidence, particularly since Sir Daniel James turned out to be less than gentlemanly.”

“No, Mrs. Kenilworth, for you see His Lordship is quite enough escort for me. We are to be married, you know, it was just decided this very day. You must be the first to congratulate us, aside from my Mama and Lady Catherine. Oh! I beg your pardon--Mrs. Kenilworth, this is Lord Warwick, he is only come to Bath today.”

The Earl of Warwick bowed elegantly. Lydia admired the graceful bend of his neck as he did so. 

Mrs. Kenilworth's brows rose and she peered about her for any sign of her friends to whom she could carry the news. “May I offer my felicitations then, my Lord, and Miss Bennet. I am so pleased, Lady Catherine was quite convinced that you would do nicely, even after Sir Daniel James behaved so, and I do see that she was quite correct. I do not think you should attempt to go down Milsom Street, my dear. Mr. Nash is there and in quite a rage. There is a radical preacher come to Bath and the Beau has gone to meet him and means for him to leave. Wesley or some such name. At any rate, I am to go home, Mr. Kenilworth would not at all like me to be caught up in a mob, for that is what I am certain it will turn out to be, judging by what I have seen. You had much better go down past Bilbury’s and then on to the park, if that is where you were headed. Oh! Lady Eugenia, do wait for me one moment, I have something to say to you!”

Lord Warwick’s brows had reached almost comical heights by the time Mrs. Kenilworth had left off speaking. Lydia looked at his contemptuous expression and could not contain her laugh. 

“If you had asked me yesterday what I thought of Mrs. Kenilworth, I should have declared her quite unbearable, but today I am feeling prodigiously friendly towards everyone. Although now that I think of it, I do wish she would not tie her bonnet ribbons quite like that, for her nose is not very straight and she really ought to balance it by tying her bow on the opposite side of the twist. I cannot understand why people do not see these things, Justin. La! Do you mean to put your arm about my waist in such a crowded spot?”

“Yes,” said the Earl, “for if I do not, then that talkative woman will be sure to announce our engagement to all and sundry and I mean to get there first by making it very evident that I adore you, Lydia.” He removed his arm some minutes later, however, when they had lost sight of of the crowds of people. “Sir Daniel James,” he began, with determination, “I should like to know what ‘less than gentlemanly’ implies, if you please.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I do not think I need to tell you what it means, sir. Must we speak of him today? I sent him off without any difficulty and he was so very offended that I do not think he will wish to see me again. Really, Justin, I was very rude to him in my rejection.”

Lord Warwick laughed darkly, “Oh, that I can believe without any difficulty, my pet. I have the privilege of having heard you brutally issue a well deserved rejection before. I want to know if I ought to pay a visit to the fellow.”

“No,” said Lydia, shortly.

“No?” he replied, his brows lifting a little again but the corner of his mouth had curled up, ever so slightly. 

Lydia shook her head, “No.”

The Earl of Warwick bowed to Miss Bennet, accepting his orders. “Very well then, I suppose I have little enough right to object, after my behavior to you during the season. He may live,” said Lord Warwick, with a shrug.

They passed a public house and a drunkard stumbled out having been thrust forth from within. He wore a tattered militia uniform, and almost colliding with Lydia, he lost his footing and reached for her to steady himself. 

The Earl of Warwick disengaged the man from her with a sharp kick to his knee and the man fell over. The man, blinking blearily against the piercing brightness of daylight, rubbed a hand across his beard and stared at the young lady. 

“I know you...I know you,” he said to himself. “Can’t remember, can’t remember, anything.” 

“Take yourself off,” ordered Lord Warwick, “else I shall call the magistrate and have you dealt with. You are fortunate that I am in such a good frame of mind today. The lady does not know commoners like you. Be gone.”

George Wickham looked hard at Lydia Bennet one more time, and seeing that the tall man was in earnest, shrugged his shoulders and loped off towards Milsom Street. His knee hurt from the man’s boot and he wondered if he could find another tavern in this awful city that might serve him an ale or two on credit, just to dull the pain. Something like regret rose in him at the depths to which his life had sunk and he squashed it down quickly. What did it matter if he had once stood tall and proud, looking every bit as much of a gentleman as that arrogant rich man with the pretty girl on his arm? It wasn’t his fault after all, was it? Women did not look at him like that anymore, not like that young lady had looked at her companion, as though he were something quite wonderful. 

Lydia spared a pitying glance for him over her shoulder as he hobbled away, and then shrugging her shoulders, looked back to the Earl. He was prodigiously handsome and she grinned up at him, feeling rather pleased with her choice. 

“How strange!” was all she said, after they had walked a few feet further. She considered the drunkard’s behaviour with a little frown. He had seemed to think he knew her, but she would vow she had never laid eyes on the fellow.

“The man was drunk, my pet, don’t think on it--you need not be troubled by anything today.”

They stopped for a half of an hour at a little chocolate shop that catered solely to the very wealthy inhabitants of Bath. Lydia, sat near a window, enjoyed sipping at her sweet drink whilst watching the passers-by go about doing their errands.

Having finished her drink she set it down on her saucer with a contented sigh and noticed her companion studying her. She smiled at him and his eyes lit up.

“I suppose that my Lady wife will need to be brought a chocolate drink in bed every morning by her maid, judging by your enjoyment of that. Shall I get you another?” 

Lydia beamed at him. “That sounds very charming, Justin. I had better not, I think I have had a little too much cake as it is, I shan’t be able to get in to above half of my dresses if I have more.”

He bowed, “I had best arrange it then, hadn’t I, my pet?” he said grandly, then sobered. “You can always have anything you want, Lydia.”

Lydia gave a little crow of laughter and, uncaring of the other patrons in the shop, reached for his hand. She would not consider such dull things as proper behaviour, not today. She wanted to hold his hand and so she did. His eyes were tender as he pressed her fingers. 

“I do not think there is anything else I want that is not here. I shall like to be married to you, it will mean I can wear my beautiful pearls at long last for one and, oh! Justin, will you take me to Paris, please? I want to buy some French lace. Lady Beatrice wrote to me months ago that her Father travelled over the channel and brought her some back. It was a very trying letter to read when I was sat looking like a drab little blackbird in mourning crepe; I shall write one to her once we are married and see how she likes it. Well,” she added, charitably, “perhaps I won’t.”

“Paris? Yes, we can certainly sail to France if you like. I might like to take a jaunt to Italy with you too; you will like the silk there, I am certain. We ought to avoid the museums though, I should think.” He grinned, amused by the memory. “You liked your pearls? I had rather thought you might be hopping mad at me. I was expecting you to throw them at my head and call me all manner of shocking names that I should be embarrassed to admit I knew.” 

He possessed himself of her other hand. 

“Like them? My dear, they are the most perfect things. I hid them with my pistol. Yes, I was very cross with you, I thought you were trying to manipulate me or force my hand, and yes, I would have thrown them back at you, but...I tried them on and then I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I don’t think I have ever owned anything so lovely.” 

She removed her hand and reached for her reticule when her eyes felt a little damp. Lord Warwick offered his handkerchief to her and looked grave when she dabbed at her eyes.

“You must not mind me! I am happy, I am. I was just thinking how glad I was that I kept them, my pearls I mean. I like to buy little presents for people, you see, I am not like my sisters, they--well Jane and Lizzy--seem to know how to make people happy only with a few kind words but I...I like to give something a little more permanent that will not be forgotten a moment later. So...so when Lizzy puts on a pretty hat, she can say to herself, ‘Lydia gave me this’ and she will know that I did so because I love her. I must be making little sense to you. It is only, when Papa died and I could not see you--I wished, above anything, that the pearls were bought for me for similar reasons and it gave me hope...that is all. It isn’t merely that I like pretty things. My pearls will always be my most special thing for all my life.”

“Lydia,” said, Lord Warwick, sounding a little hoarse, “do stop, or else I will need to take my handkerchief back from you and wipe my own eyes. We will go to France and to Italy and wherever else we wish to wander, after we are married, and shall be utterly, utterly happy. Do not cry, my pet, I intend for you to laugh every day with joy. Yes, of course, of course your pearls were bought for you for such reasons as you say. I love you and I mean for you to know it fully.”

Lydia considered this. 

“Justin,” she said, quite seriously, handing him back his fine lawn handkerchief, “is there any good reason why we cannot climb into a carriage this very instant and simply elope?”


End file.
